


The Hellcat and the Warrior

by fuzzballsheltiepants



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, NSFW, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-02 00:16:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 57,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12715857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzballsheltiepants/pseuds/fuzzballsheltiepants
Summary: Nesta and Cassian have been avoiding each other for months since the war.  Finally, a chance meeting starts to burn down the walls between them.





	1. Educational Reading Material

Nesta closed the library door behind her and leaned against it. She ran through everyone in her head: Feyre and Rhys were shopping in the Rainbow; Azriel was visiting the Continent setting up a meeting with some important ruler somewhere; Amren was doing whatever Amren does; Lucien and Elain were at the greenhouses at the edge of the city selecting more plants; and Cassian was off bossing around some Illyrian war lord. She should have at least a couple hours to herself.

She pushed off the door and headed to the stacks. Not her usual bookshelf full of romance, but over to that corner where she’d seen that title when she’d first explored. The romance books were fun, but she was tired of their lack of realism. If she had to read one more time about some male’s “quivering member” she was going to throw the book across the room. No, she needed something real.

The book had been on the bottom shelf, tucked in with a bunch of self-help books. Ten Habits of Highly Effective Warriors. How to Heal Yourself When No One Else Can: A Guide to Battlefield Healing. Males Are From Night, Females Are From Dawn. Ah, yes, there it was. The Joy of Aerial Sex. She slipped it off the shelf, looked around one more time to make sure nobody was around, and settled into the nearest chair.

Flipping through the first few pages, a surprisingly dense diatribe on the importance of love and respect in sexual relationships, she found the first picture and felt a brief stab of disappointment. Unfortunately, it appeared this book was about Seraphim, rather than Illyrians; the wings were white-feathered rather than leathery. It made sense: after all, the Illyrian females traditionally had their wings clipped, which would put a damper on this sort of play. But that quickly was forgotten as her eyes devoured the other details: the male’s engorged cock, the female flying behind him, reaching around to grip it. The next page showed him behind her, driving into her as they coasted, wings spread to their fullest extent. Another page had the female facing him, wings tucked in, head and shoulders curving towards he earth below, the male holding them both aloft as she wrapped her legs around his ass, keeping him buried in her. Nesta could feel herself getting hot, blood pooling in her core. She might need to go back to her room in the townhouse for a while…

A deep voice saying “Hmmm…” right behind her had her leaping out of the chair, whipping around to hide the book behind her back. Cassian surveyed her, legs slightly braced apart, hands behind his back, mischievous glint in his hazel eyes. “You know, Illyrians are better at that sort of things than those Seraphim pricks.”

“Doubtful,” Nesta said, managing to get some scorn into her voice. “Very doubtful.”

He leaned towards her a little, spreading his wings slowly. “Well, we generally do have a more impressive wingspan.” He grinned a little evilly as her gaze flicked south. 

Suddenly she had had enough. Feyre and Rhys were fucking at all hours of the day and night; her bedroom was next to them and she could hear them even through the shields. Elain and Lucien were courting each other in the sweetest possible way, it was disgusting. She wanted something, someone for herself. And after Cassian’s near-death declaration all those months ago, not a damn thing had happened, and it just wasn’t - it wasn’t fair. She was tired of waiting for things to just fall into place.

“Prove it,” she challenged him.

His eyes lit up with surprise and he took a step towards her. “You sure you can handle it?” 

No, no she really wasn’t. She stepped up to him anyway. “You all talk and no action?” Unfortunately her voice lacked the defiant snap she wanted and came out rather…breathless. He huffed a laugh and took her face in his hands. Holding her blue-gray eyes with his warm hazel ones, he bent his head. Just before their lips met, he whispered, “Last chance to back out.”

His lips were warm, soft, full. The kiss was surprisingly gentle, a generous kiss, not demanding. For all his fierceness, he was a giver, not a taker; he’d shown that time and time again, even on the battlefield. The image of him sending that spear through Hybern’s general popped up unbidden. Her hands ran down his back, settling on his hips, as the kiss deepened. She had never had someone’s tongue in her mouth, never realized how that would trigger this delicious weakness through her whole body. They broke apart, breathing shallow, and just stared at each other. 

She could see him starting to pull back a little, see him building his guard against her rejection. Before she let herself think, she grabbed his waistband and stopped him. She knew that she could walk away, he would let her walk away, but it was time to stop running. Her fingers fumbled with his top button and he looked down but didn’t help her. Either she would do this herself, or it wouldn’t happen. She finally wrenched it open and moved onto the next. There was a narrow line of black hair that ran down his lower abdomen; she traced it lightly with her finger. The third button revealed more, and now she could feel him swelling as she reached for the last button. She was trembling, damn it, trembling as she undid that last button and eased his pants open, slipping her hand in and gripping him. 

Cassian sucked in a breath and reached up a hand to touch her face, thumb caressing the shell of her ear, but she couldn’t take her eyes off his body. He was…beautiful. The texture of him in her hand, the contrast of hard and silky, the way he swelled to fill her hand, the sheer length of him. His lips brushed her cheek and she finally looked up. He kissed her lightly then pulled back, holding her eyes, expression soft, serious. She cleared her throat. “You were right.”

“Hmm?”

“You do have a most impressive wingspan.”


	2. The Hellcat Yields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta's first time.

“Take me home, now.”

“Nesta…” Cassian’s voice was pleading.

“Now, you overgrown bat!”

With a sigh, Cassian scooped her up and shot into the air, wheeling in an arc around the front of the House of Wind. He caught an updraft and coasted for a bit, then tilted his wings, turning towards the shoreline.

“Where the hell are you going?” Nesta demanded.

Cassian’s lips were set. Nesta tried not to notice their fullness, the straight line of his nose, the curve of his cheekbone. “We’re going to my place,” he said. “We need to talk.”

“We can talk at the townhouse.”  
“No, I ran into Rhys before I went up to the library, he said they were heading home. Lucien and your sisters should be there by now too.” She knew she wasn’t going to be able to dissuade him, so she settled for crossing her arms and watching the city as they passed overhead. Lights were coming on all over, people leaving their homes to congregate in the streets. The Sidra was stained pink and purple by the setting sun as they passed low over it, their reflection in the water reminding Nesta of a two-headed dragon. She’d never been to Cassian’s apartment, he rarely seemed to be there himself given that he was always at the townhouse or the House of Wind. Suddenly he shot higher in the air, backflapping as he landed in a rooftop garden. He set her on her feet and then walked to the door, not watching to see if she followed. She took a quick look at the exquisite view over the river before she turned and went down the stairs.

The apartment was a surprise. She had somehow expected a warehouse-style with a lot of gym equipment and dirty clothes strewn everywhere. Instead, it was a large open plan with a clean modern kitchen, comfortable furniture arranged around a large fireplace, and a surprising number of books. Landscapes and abstract paintings hung on every available wall space. One of the landscapes - a stark depiction of the coastline outside the city - looked vaguely familiar, and when she went to look, she saw Feyre’s signature in the corner. 

“That’s my favorite,” he said over her shoulder. She whipped around to him, her anger returning. 

“I still don’t know why we had to talk,” she snarled. “You made it pretty clear you have no interest in me, you should’ve just taken me home and left me alone like the coward you are.”

His nostrils flared and she knew she had stabbed him deep. “What the hell did you expect me to do?” he shouted. “I was just supposed to fuck you right there, because you were turned on from some book? Risk destroying everything between us just because you’re horny? Bend you over a library table like a common camp whore?” The word reverberated through the apartment. He meant like his mother, Nesta realized. His mother who, after bearing him to an unknown warrior had been raped by the Illyrians until she died.

She closed her eyes, took a breath, opened them. “You think I wanted you sleep with you just because of the damn book?” Her voice was calm, even.

“Didn’t you?” he asked quietly.

She took a step closer to him. “No. I wanted,” she said, closing her eyes again, “I wanted for us not to back away again. It’s been months,” her voice nearly breaking, “and just…nothing. My sister is making more progress with that fox-faced bastard than you and I have managed.”

“I wasn’t aware it was a competition.”

Nesta shook her head. “No, it’s not that, it’s just…if Elain can find a way to open her heart to someone after Graysen, why can’t we?” He didn’t answer, just stood there, watching her. “So in the library, when…when I was touching you…I thought that maybe we could move forward. Maybe we could find that…connection. I don’t know. I don’t know. But obviously you don’t want to, so -”

Cassian closed the narrow space between them then, bristling, wings slightly spreading. “You think I don’t want you? You’re ALL that I want, Nesta. But I don’t want your first time - our first time - to be some desperation fuck in a library, worrying your sister is going to walk in, or my brothers. You deserve better than that. You deserve flowers and sparkling wine and -“

“Stop. Just stop.” He stopped. “I just want us - I need us to find a way, here. I need you to not walk away again. You were willing to sacrifice yourself, to DIE on that battlefield, and then when you didn’t manage it you just…disappeared.” He started to speak but she kept talking over him. “And don’t make up some bullshit about me deserving flowers or whatever. I’ve never cared about any of that, and you know it. You don’t need to woo me, I’m right here, just don’t walk away again.” 

They glared at each other for a moment. “Okay, then.”

“Okay?” She looked up at him, at that crooked smile, the crinkles next to his hazel eyes. 

“Okay. But I’m still not letting your first time be on a library table, it’s way too uncomfortable.” She laughed at that, a real laugh, one she rarely let crack her veneer. He reached up and touched her lips, then cupped her jaw and kissed her, kissed her until she was dizzy, until she had forgotten where she was, had forgotten her own name, everything had narrowed down to his lips on hers, their tongues intertwining, his broad hands gripping her arms. When he finally pulled away, both gasping for breath, she held his eyes with hers as she reached behind her back and began unbuttoning her dress. He spun her around and finished the process, kissing her neck, then her shoulder as he slipped the dress down. She stepped out of it and he sucked in a breath at the sight of her, bare before him except for her lacy underwear. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her into his bedroom, laying her on his enormous bed before settling over her. She ran her hands over his body, untucking his shirt, lightly dragging her nails up his sides. 

“How does your shirt come off?” She felt stupid for having to ask, but there was no easy way to pull it over his wings. He twisted off her and sat on the edge of the bed, showing her the buttons that held the panels around his wings in place. She unbuttoned the shirt and slipped it off, revealing the tattoos down his spine, and traced them with her fingers. His wings spread a little at her touch, and she couldn’t resist - she ran a finger over the membrane, feeling the different texture of the scars, his moan encouragement to continue her exploration. When his breathing became ragged, she passed her tongue over a spot - and suddenly found herself on her back, Cassian hovering over her, face wild as he struggled for control. She should have been afraid. Cauldron knows, after Tomas, she should have been afraid, but she wasn’t. This was Cassian. He was the fiercest, gentlest creature she had ever known. As soon as his breathing eased she grabbed his face and drew him down to kiss her. Her hands went to his pants then, not trembling this time as she unbuttoned them and eased them over his hips. She tore her lips from his and looked down at their bodies, so close together. His thighs lay between her knees, cock pressing against her abdomen, and all she wanted was to feel what it was like to have that thick length inside her. She looked back at his face and saw her hunger matched there, but there was restraint there too. No such reservations were present in her own heart. She slipped her hand around him, running her thumb over the broad head, again marveling at the contrast in textures. He shifted so he was bearing his weight on one arm, tracing the fingers of the other over her nipple then down her side, hooking under her lacy underwear, and then tearing through it as it was tissue paper. Before she could protest the destruction of the only underwear she had with her, his fingers were between her legs, tracing her entrance. 

“Oh!” She couldn’t control her gasp as he tickled lightly along the sensitive skin, already slick from wanting him, couldn’t control the widening of her legs. He gave a little growl and slipped a finger inside. This, this was what she needed. To share her body with him, to have some part of him so deep in her… When he added a second finger, filling her, stretching her, her mind went blank. There was nothing but this moment, this sensation, of his fingers moving within her. He shifted again, nudging her legs wider, settling between them. She reached down and grabbed his cock again, guiding him to her. He slipped his fingers out and met her eyes as he nudged at her entrance. Words wouldn’t form so she gave a little nod and he pushed gently into her. There was an odd feeling of something giving deep inside as her body stretched around him, as for the first time she allowed herself to open to another. He waited for her to adjust, her muscles to unclench, and then began moving slowly, easing in a little farther with each gentle stroke. So cautious, this warrior, but she didn’t want caution. Some distant part of her brain knew it might hurt but she wanted him deeper, wanted to finally share her whole self. Her hands moved to his wings and traced along the top arch, one hand to a wing, and he groaned and spasmed, finally pushing his full length into her. The gasp as he filled her was involuntary, and he froze, afraid to hurt her, so she ran her fingers down his wings again, wordlessly telling him it was okay. Finally he settled into a rhythm, a slow drag out and fast push in, and with each push she felt her barriers dissolving. There was no need to keep him out, no need to protect herself from him. She wrapped her legs around him, locking ankles behind his ass, and the change in angle altered the sensation completely, his shaft rubbing against that little bundle of nerves with each stroke until she shattered completely. To keep from crying out at the release she bit his shoulder and at that he found his own completion, not able to hold back his roar, pounding into her deeper than she had ever imagined was possible, until he collapsed on top of her, murmuring her name over and over. 

Nesta couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying, she had never been so spent in all her life, never so unguarded. As he withdrew and settled next to her, there were tears mingled with the sweat on his face too. Her lips brushed them away. He reached up and gently pushed her hair off her sweaty forehead, running fingers through it, over her scalp, then down her arm, her whole body. They lay facing each other, lightly touching, not speaking, until Nesta’s eyes began to drift closed. As sleep claimed her, she thought she heard a whisper, “I love you, my little hellcat,” but couldn’t drag herself back to consciousness to murmur her reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedback greatly appreciated!


	3. Distracted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after

Nesta awoke, alone in her familiar townhouse room, warm wrapped in the covers. A twinge of sadness ran through her; it must’ve been a dream. Even though she could still taste him in her mouth, even though her lips felt bruised. But she’d always been a vivid dreamer, sometimes waking with her nostrils full of the sweet rose scent of her mother, sometimes feeling the pain of Tomas’ hand clenched around her wrist. She waited for the feeling to fade as it always did, but it continued to linger. Squeezing her eyes closed tightly, she stretched, and felt the pull and ache deep in her lower abdomen. Oh. Not a dream.

She remembered then, his whispered words to her as she fell asleep. Waking a couple of hours later with his arms holding her to his chest, watching his regular breathing for a few minutes, studying how his face was so much softer as he slept. His lashes were uncommonly long, grazing his cheek, and his mouth, that sensual, generous mouth. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from brushing those lips with her fingers, and he had startled awake at her touch, pulling back instinctively. Then he recognized her, and the expression in those hazel eyes, the awe and quiet joy…it had been too much. So she had asked him to bring her home, and he had without a protest. Luckily her dress was long enough to hide her lack of underwear as they flew through the streets. It wasn’t really all that late, and there were still noises in the townhouse below as he left her on the roof. He looked like he wanted to kiss her, to declare himself, to do something dramatic, so she forced her coldest mask onto her features and headed for the stairs. She could feel his eyes on her until the door closed behind her, then she had crept along the corridor into her room. Nuala had appeared with food, not questioning where she had been, not showing any sign she could smell the musk of sex on her though Nesta knew she could. The wraith had merely laid out a meal, then her nightclothes, and brushed light fingers over her shoulder before disappearing again. 

Her eyes burned as she thought about what she had done, what she had given up. She cursed her lack of self control. He had always kept her a little off-balance, with the pull of his magnetic personality, his teasing, the flares of fierce protectiveness. But she had never let anyone inside her soul like that, not even Elain. It made her vulnerable. She couldn’t allow it to happen again, especially since he seemed to think it meant something more than just physical gratification. He couldn’t be allowed to think she needed him, needed anyone other than herself.

By the time she bathed and dressed, everyone else had either already left or was in the process of heading out for the day. Feyre was off to train, Elain to garden, Rhys and that fox-faced bastard to meet with somebody or other. She ate breakfast alone, then settled in an overstuffed chair in the sitting room to read. The ticking of the ancient grandfather clock in the corner was soothing, reminding her of the one in her old manor house she had tried to climb in as a child. Soon she was immersed in her book, the banter of the fictional human sisters with their suitors amusing, the question of whether the proud one really loved the main character fully absorbing. 

The knock on the door startled her, but she knew immediately who it was. She didn’t even need to see the silhouette of the wings through the frosted glass panel of the door. After looking in the direction of the entrance hall for a long minute, she returned to her book. He didn’t know she was here, no doubt he would leave when nobody answered. Another knock, more insistent, sounded. 

“I know you’re in there,” came Cassian’s rough voice. Nesta rolled her eyes, set her book down carefully, and walked slowly to the door, unlocked it, and turned to go back to the sitting room. He opened it forcefully, nearly hitting her with it, and she whipped around at him with a snarl. His expression was a mix of humor and concern. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Of course,” she retorted, concentrating on keeping her voice cold, haughty. He took a step closer, and she nearly stepped back away from him until her pride stilled her feet. She couldn’t back down from him. He couldn’t know how he affected her. He was so close she had to crane her neck back to keep meeting his gaze, and she could feel the heat of his body through his leathers. Those hazel eyes were tender, knowing, as if he could see right through her icy shield, and she was tempted to knee him in the balls again just to put them back on a level playing field, but then he reached a hand up and touched her lips.

“Nesta,” he said huskily, and there was lust and something else in that voice. “Nesta.”

She bit her lip involuntarily and he seemed to take that as an invitation. Cupping her face in his huge hands, he bent his head to hers slowly, giving her a chance to pull back. Their breaths mingled, and suddenly she didn’t care if she seemed vulnerable to him, didn’t care what he thought of her. His lips met hers, soft and warm and giving, not taking. She opened her mouth to him and his tongue slipped in gently. Then her hands were on his sides, tugging at his shirt, and his arms wrapped around her and pulled her against him. They began moving, stumbling blindly, needing to be somewhere other than in the entrance hall. Her shins barked as she crashed into the coffee table, and they spun, not breaking apart for even a second, bouncing off the chair and tripping over the ottoman until her back was against the far wall, his body shoved against her. Her fingers worked their way underneath his shirt, stroking his muscled abdomen, flirting with his waistband. His hands tugged up her skirt, sliding up her thighs, over her ass, and he pulled his lips from hers only to trail kisses down her jaw, her neck, to her shoulder. She pulled his face back to hers, and now her tongue was in his mouth, not asking but demanding more. He traced those fingers under the edge of her underwear, tickling at her, teasing at her slick skin. She began fumbling at his buttons, wanting to feel him, ready for whatever he was willing to give. 

A key sounded in the lock and they froze. Only Elain bothered with a key; the others simply winnowed directly into the hall. Cassian’s eyes met hers in a silent question, and she shook her head, not ready for anyone to know, to question. He pressed a quick kiss to her neck and disappeared into the kitchen, slipping out the back door and taking to the skies before the door handle even finished turning. Nesta straightened her skirt and ran her fingers in her hair, settling quickly into the chair with her book. She couldn’t hide her flushed face, nor her scent, but hopefully her sister wouldn’t notice. Or understand if she did. 

“Nesta?” Elain’s voice sounded from the hall.

“In here,” she replied casually.

Elain slipped quietly into the sitting room, settling onto the couch. “I just wanted to see how you were doing,” she said. “You missed dinner last night and got up so late this morning, I wasn’t sure if you were ill.”

“No,” Nesta replied, “I’m fine, just got distracted with some books.”

Elain’s eyes were fixed on the spine of her book, a small wrinkle forming between them for a moment before she smoothed her expression and looked back at Nesta. “That’s good. I know how much you love your books. Let me get us some lunch.” She rose and headed into the kitchen, and Nesta dragged her attention back to her book. And realized it was upside down.


	4. Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up together for the first time

Cassian awoke automatically as the sky lightened outside. He moved to fling the covers back, but a curl of golden-brown hair on his pillow made him pause. Nesta. She was here, in his bed, by some blessing of the Cauldron. His eyes tracked the hair to her cheek, the only part of her face easily visible from where he lay. She slept curled up in a tight ball, back to him, covers to her chin. There was a slight flush on her clear skin, and with her face relaxed in sleep she looked so young, so undamaged. As if the power roiling in her had never existed.

He couldn’t recall the last time he had let a female stay overnight. Actually, he rarely brought them home at all, preferring to satisfy his needs outside of this apartment. It had been a bit of a shock when it had been Nesta who had insisted on leaving after the first time they made love. And even though they hadn’t been able to stay away from each other since then, she had kicked him out of bed each time before their mingled sweat had even dried. He supposed this was a victory for both of them.

She moved then, curling in even tighter, small fist tightening on the sheet. He had loved her since they first made love - no, if he was being honest with himself, he had loved her long before that - but right now the idea of getting out of that bed and walking away from her was causing him physical pain. He didn’t know how Rhys had survived it, those weeks Feyre had been in the Spring Court, but Rhys had always had more discipline than he had. He wanted to touch her, just to reassure himself she was real, but was afraid it would startle her. Instead he settled for laying back down, one finger lightly on a curl of that hair on his pillow.

He had almost fallen back asleep for the first time in history when she shifted beside him, rolling over to face him. Now he could study her face, those sharp cheekbones, the fans of her long lashes, that perfectly cut mouth. He was staring at that mouth when she woke with a sudden intake of breath. Her eyes flickered open and then closed immediately and she stretched with a low groan, still barely conscious. Her foot brushed against his leg and she blinked again, then looked at him as if having trouble processing his existence.

“Cassian?” she asked, her voice gravelly from sleep. He responded by brushing a gentle kiss against her lips. “Mmm, Cassian,” she said again, and those eyelids drooped. He was going to have to figure out some way to convince her to move in if she was always this adorable in the morning. Her mouth fell open a little and she made a tiny little noise in the back of her throat. Gently, he stroked a hand down her arm, and she pulled closer to him, so close they were sharing breath, her nose nearly touching his. He pooched his lips out so they just barely reached her upper lip, and she crinkled her nose in response. Just laying here with her, listening to her breathe, he felt his own eyes getting heavy. What the hell was wrong with him? The sky was turning pink and he was still in bed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything other than this wondrous being next to him.

She reached out and rested her arm atop his. After a moment, it seemed to register that she was touching him, and her eyes flared open, wary, almost alarmed. “Good morning,” he murmured. She relaxed slightly and her hand moved to rub at her eyes.

“I forgot where I was,” she said, then frowned and cleared her throat at the roughness of her voice. 

“Understandable,” he said, and propped himself up on his elbow before leaning over slowly to kiss her again. He wanted to give her a chance to pull back but she didn’t, instead freezing for a moment before hesitantly returning the kiss. When her hand moved to rest on his side, he took the opportunity to wrap her up in his arms and move his lips to her jaw, then her neck. He would have loved to explore her whole body with his mouth, but the sun was really rising now and he needed to get ready to go to work. He said as much as he pulled back reluctantly, and asked, “Coffee or tea?”

“Hmm?” she said, rubbing her fingers over her face again. “Oh, coffee.”

“Toast or eggs?”

“Either. Both.”

“Milk or juice?”

“Juice.”

He finally got out of bed, pulled on a pair of loose pants - not missing that her eyes were staring at his ass - and headed into the kitchen to make breakfast. She appeared a few minutes later in that old shirt of his that he had dug out of the closet for her when she’d refused to sleep naked last night. It hung down almost to her knees and she looked completely devastating in it, with her hair in wild disarray and her face still flushed from sleep. He gritted his teeth to keep from scooping her up and racing back to the bedroom, or just cutting to the chase and taking her over the kitchen counter. Hell, he didn’t even know if she’d enjoy that, she could well be a bed-only kind of female. He set a cup of coffee and plate of toast on the counter and turned back to the eggs on the stove. Out of the corner of his eye he watched his shirt slide up her legs as she reached for the toast, nearly revealing that perfect ass, before choosing one of the stools to sit on. Shit. He knew when he turned around with the eggs - which were now done and would turn into rubber if he left them on the stove a minute longer - the evidence of his interest in her ass was going to be revealed through those thin pants. He grabbed a plate from the cupboard and scooped the eggs onto it, all the while trying to think of battle wounds, of sleeping on the ground in freezing rain, of the odor of rotten meat, but the only thing his traitorous brain could focus on was the scent of Nesta and sex that was now wafting through his kitchen. He turned and set the eggs on the counter as quickly as he could, but her eyes had zeroed in on the increasing bulge in the front of his pants. She took a delicate bite of toast and chewed slowly, her blue-gray eyes traveling up his shirtless torso. There was no particular expression on her face as she met his gaze, hopped off the stool, and walked around to him. Nothing to indicate what she was thinking as she stopped in front of him, as close as she could be without touching. She looked him straight in the eye as she hopped up onto the counter.

“When do you have to leave?” she asked. 

“Soon,” he said, and damn him if his voice didn’t crack. 

She leaned back, resting on her elbows, her knees parting to reveal that she was wearing absolutely nothing underneath that shirt. “How soon?”

“I can be late.”

“Be late.”


	5. The Stairwell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little public quickie

Nesta grabbed Cassian’s hand and dragged him through the theater, against the flow of exiting people and earning them more than a few glares, though no confrontation. Evidently nobody they encountered had a death wish. His size alone was enough to cause an inconvenience - he was essentially a boulder blocking a small stream - but several people marked the gleaming Siphons on each hand and turned their bodies to be out of the way. He had no idea where she was dragging him, but he didn’t much care. If she wanted to be there, so did he. 

She found a door marked “Exit” and pushed through it. It led to an unlit stairwell that overlooked a blind alley, no doubt why it was deserted. He began to have an inkling of what she had in mind, given what his fingers had been doing during the second act of the play. In fact, he had barely a clue what the play was about, his focus was so intent on her. He was pretty sure the lead had died tragically, but that was only a guess based on the fact that half the audience had been crying. Nesta began climbing down the stairs, still towing him behind her, the only sounds their footsteps echoing and the low buzz of patrons trickling out onto the distant street. They reached a door to the alley, but she kept going until they were at the bottom of the stairwell. Streetlight filtered down through the space between the stairs, falling on the planes of Nesta’s face as she turned to face him.

“What are we doing here, Nesta?” he asked, his voice echoing even though he tried to keep it low.

“Whatever you want,” she breathed.

“Oh?” he asked, taking a step into her, pushing her back with his body until she was against the wall. Resting a hand on the wall on either side of her head, he leaned in slowly, tracing the side of her nose with his own. She exhaled and he pressed his lips to hers, gently at first, then with increasing demand. When she started fumbling with his pants he broke from her lips and trailed light kisses down her neck, then nipped her sharply at the junction of her shoulder. She finally got his pants opened, and the slip of her small hand around his cock made him groan and close his eyes. He had no idea how she did this to him, how just being around her made him so insane. He’d never been exactly shy about sex, but he had to admit he’d never fucked somebody in a public stairwell either. She pulled on him, not at all gently, and his eyes snapped to hers.

“What are you waiting for?” she challenged him. Nothing, he decided, nothing at all. He hiked her skirt up and used his knees to nudge her legs open, then slid his hand up the back of her thigh to press his palm against her ass, reaching into her with a finger. The feel of her slick readiness, the smell of her arousal, had him hoisting her up in a blind haze of lust, one arm under that perfect ass, the other guiding himself into her. As soon as he was seated within her, she wrapped her legs around his waist and he hooked his free arm under hers, pressing the hand and forearm against the wall. He shifted his feet, widening them, and drove himself into her. Her small exhale brushing past his ear made him nearly wild, and he had to wrangle his self-control to ensure he didn’t hurt her. The stairwell was silent except for his grunts and her small moans and the small, wet sounds of their movement. 

He was nearing his completion but still in control when he murmured in her ear, “What are we doing here, Nesta?” and got a slightly louder moan in response. “What do you want?” She still refused to speak, refused to answer him, and he grabbed her earlobe in his teeth, biting down just enough to make her gasp before releasing her. “What do you want?” He was going to make her speak, needed to make her speak. He knew how he was affecting her, knew all her little tells by now. The slackness in her face, the hitch in her breathing, the dull red flush creeping up her neck. He had never bothered to learn a lover’s signals before, but the fact that she was near-silent during their love-making made it necessary. No; if he was honest with himself, he would have learned them anyway, just from his consuming fascination with her. And the pull of the bond they were both currently ignoring. “What do you want, Nesta?” he whispered again, running his nose up her neck, inhaling her scent, so inextricably mixed with his. 

When still she said nothing, despite the small contractions he could feel beginning in her core, he stopped moving. Just stopped, holding her there, pinned against the wall, each of them a hair’s breadth from shattering. Her little gasp of dismay and desperation made him want to smile, but he forced his voice into a growl and demanded, “What do you want?” 

“Cassian,” she moaned breathlessly, and he rewarded her with a thrust that had her clenching her legs around him, seeking deeper penetration. “Cassian, I -” By the Cauldron, how he loved to hear her moan his name. As he pushed into her again, harder, she bit him, sinking her teeth into his skin hard enough to bruise, and he felt her release take her, the tightening of her around his cock, the quick panting breaths brushing through her teeth in his shoulder, and he knew he was done for. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her neck as his own climax hit and he spilled himself into her.

As soon as he had control over himself he slipped his arm around her waist and stepped away from the wall, disentangling himself from her and letting her slide slowly to the ground. She raised her eyes to his as she straightened her clothing, producing a handkerchief to clean herself and then handing it to him without breaking her stare. He did the same and debated keeping the small cloth with their mingled scents, but ended up extending it out to her. As she reached for it, he wrapped his free hand around her waist and pulled her into a slow, luxuriant kiss. Finally breaking off, he trailed kisses over her jaw and down her neck again, relishing the way she half-closed her eyes and cocked her head to the side to allow him better access. With a last gentle nip he stepped back and took her hand, and they walked through the door into the alley beyond. 

“One of these days,” he said as they strolled casually to the main street, “I’m going to make you scream.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and replied drily, “Probably best I refrained in the stairwell, or it may have caused a scene.” He thought about that for a moment and began to chuckle. By the time they reached the street and he had enough room to spread his wings, he was roaring. A few people were watching them as he slipped a hand under her knees and pulled her to his chest before launching into the sky. As he reached a good cruising height and extended his wings to glide, he said into her ear, “I do love you, my hellcat.”

“I know,” she said, a small smile playing over her lips, and he tilted in the sky and flew her silently towards home.


	6. Flying Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian is trying to train some new warriors, while Nesta wants to get a little creative.

Cassian stood on the low hill that overlooked the training rings. Illyrian warriors and trainees, including about a dozen young females, dotted the rings, going through their warm-up routine. Lord Hyllus was talking with one of the trainers at the edge of the Siphons ring, pointing out a couple of the trainees, no doubt going through some particular things to work on. The trainer was nodding, gesturing in response. Hyllus was a new warlord, one Cassian himself had appointed after the previous one had been incinerated in the war, and it was good to see he was interacting well with his subordinates. One of the few positive things that came out of that wholesale slaughter of the Illyrians was that a number of the backwards warlords had been among the casualties. Rhys and Cassian had been able to hand-pick their replacements, and the inclusion of the females in the scene below was a result of that. A couple of the females caught his eye; one particularly tall one whose fierceness was evident even as she did the basic training maneuvers that made up the warmup, and another who may have still been a child, she was so small, but who moved like a dancer. 

He rolled his neck, trying to maintain his focus on the rings below rather than the good-bye he had said to Nesta just a couple of hours ago. She had been in the library, of course, and when he appeared she had pulled him over to a dark corner, hiked up her skirts, pulled his pants over his hips, and bent over a table for him. When the table proved too low, he had ended up taking her against the wall. He could still feel her legs wrapped around his hips, her clenching around him as he drove into her, could still hear her sharp panting breaths in his ear, could still smell her… He wanted to taste her so badly, that smell drove him mad, but that was the one thing she wouldn’t allow. He could fuck her all over Velaris and had, his little exhibitionist hellcat, but couldn’t kiss below her navel. Much as she wouldn’t acknowledge the bond between them. He had felt it snap into place that first night when she bit him, but when he had tried to trace the tether a huge wall of ice had prevented him from reaching her. She still wouldn’t talk about it, even though her need was as great as her own, even when she sought him out, even when barely a day went by without his fingers or cock buried in her, her teeth in his shoulder to stifle her cries. No, she just called him an asshole every time he snarled at another male who looked at her. He only actually agreed with her assessment when he had snarled at his brothers, shortly after that first night. Rhys and Az had only looked amused.

His musings were interrupted by Hyllus landing next to him. “Commander.”

Cassian dipped his chin in response. “Any problems, Lord Hyllus?” It was his first time visiting the camp since the young man had been elevated to the position. At just over a hundred years old, he was the second youngest leader in all the camps but had more than proven himself in the fighting.

The warlord shook his head. “Not really, nothing we haven’t been able to manage internally.” The trainers were going from person to person, binding their wings. “A little push back here and there about the females, but Sabine has pretty much taken care of all that.”

“Sabine?” Hyllus gestured to the tall woman who had caught Cassian’s eye. “Ah, she looks promising.”

Hyllus huffed a short laugh in response. “Just you wait. Between her and Brisa the males have had their eyes opened and their balls shrunk.” Cassian grinned wickedly in response.

A pair of young males, perhaps about ten years old, stepped into the ring first. Binding their wings taught them not to rely on them for survival, critical in the case they became damaged in combat. They sparred with gloved fists first, then switched to weapons, each choosing wooden swords and shields. The trainer called the time, then unbound their wings and a pair of females stepped in and followed the same drill. Both were competent but lacked aggression. The next pair of males had plenty of aggression but no skill, each so intent on pounding the other into the dirt that they were missing their blows by miles. Cassian puffed his cheeks and blew through his lips while Hyllus shook his head in disappointment. “Not sure how long it’s going to take them to get it,” he said, looking at Cassian sideways. “If they ever do.”

The commander laughed in response. “You should’ve seen me when I first got to camp, I was just as bad. Give them some time.” They stood together as the pairs worked, alternating males and females, matched by age and skill. Cassian kept waiting for the dancer female to step into the ring but she stayed on the sidelines watching intently. He was surprised to see Sabine step in first, matched with another female. While the other was good, about as skilled as any of the males he had seen, Sabine outclassed her and had her pinned within two minutes. They took their practice swords, and Sabine disarmed the other in four moves. She stepped back while the other regrouped, then they switched to wooden knives. Here Sabine had a little more trouble, as the shorter female kept getting under her guard, but Sabine disarmed her again in just under a minute. Hyllus looked at Cassian and laughed at his open mouth. 

“Where the hell did she come from?” he asked. The warlord shook his head and shrugged. 

“She appeared about three months ago. Said her father had been training her since she was a little girl, and after the war she had decided it was time to join the army. Her father made her wait until she was seventeen, so here she is.”

“Who’s her father? He’s gotta be someone we know, there’s damn few warriors who can fight like that, let alone train someone else to.”

“She won’t say, just said her older brother had fought in the war and nearly died, and that’s what made her want to join up. I guess she and her father and brother have been living off the map somewhere in the Steppes.”

The males who fought next were the best he’d seen yet - except Sabine. “You ever pit her against them?”

“Did I ever put them in the ring together? No. Did Antis try to get the jump on her and end up on the ground with her knee on his neck and a knife against his balls? Perhaps.”

Cassian winced. “Did she…”

“No, thank the Cauldron. Only wounded his pride.” Hyllus straightened up suddenly. “Here we go.”

Sabine was stepping into the ring again, this time with the dancer. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. That girl’s half her size!”

“Just watch.”

It was one of the most amazing fights he had ever seen. Sabine fought with the same intensity, but couldn’t land more than a glancing blow. The smaller female used the ring like a wizard, always just a split second faster, able to duck under the other’s reach to land a blow herself. The tall one didn’t seem to feel the blows, and had the discipline to not overpursue but it was essentially a draw. After five minutes the trainer called time and the females stopped, then moved to the weapon rack. Hyllus chuckled and rubbed his hands together as the dancer grabbed a staff instead of a sword like Sabine selected. The females faced up and gave each other a small bow - a traditional gesture of respect Cassian had yet to see anyone else observe - and then began in a flurry of blows. Both were so fast an untrained eye would not have been able to track it. The staff gave the dancer more reach and evened the match, and she had a remarkable ability to consistently hit the sword on the flat instead of the edge. It still looked like Sabine was going to win the match, until the small one managed to trap the flat of Sabine’s sword against her body, plant the end of the staff in the ground, and back flip, lightly kicking the taller girl in the face, throwing her off balance. As she landed, she spun the staff and disarmed Sabine. Much to Cassian’s surprise, the tall female laughed, threw her arm around the other’s shoulders, and they left the ring talking animatedly. 

“What the hell did I just see?” Cassian said slowly. 

“Commander, you just saw probably the best female Illyrian fighter in history get her ass kicked by my daughter, Brisa.”

**********

The rest of training went as expected. The older warriors did their Siphon training while the younger ones watched. Cassian knew a couple of the trainers and he talked with them about some new training techniques he wanted to them incorporate. Two hundred years ago, he had insisted that physical training continue even after weapons training had begun, and that had saved lives in the war. He had been trading information with Varian and the Summer Court prince had made some good suggestions that would be easily adapted to fighting with wings. But he couldn’t keep Sabine and Brisa out of his head. If he could just use them to help demonstrate that females could make effective warriors, it could make a huge difference in some of the more backwards camps. During a break he wrote a quick note to Rhys, who had winnowed ahead to the next camp to sort out some problems, to suggest they bring these two back to Velaris to discuss this.

Finally training was over and everyone broke to eat. He needed to get to the next camp before dark, but his stomach growled and he decided to eat first. As he rounded the corner towards the food tent, an innovation of Hyllus’s to help level out some of the inequities among the young recruits, he almost ran straight into Sabine. She was nearly tall enough to look him straight in the eye and he straightened up reflexively, she mirroring the gesture. Her eyes went wide in shock as she registered who was in front of her. 

“Commander!” 

“Yes?” he said, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “What can I do for you?” Her face flushed but she didn’t look away. Before she could reply, Feyre and Nesta appeared in the courtyard and Feyre waved to him. He waved back and then shrugged at her, arms open and palms up, confused at their sudden arrival. Nesta bristled as Feyre grabbed her arm and dragged her over. He glanced at Sabine, who now looked slightly ill as the High Lady and her sister approached. 

Feyre, as usual, had no issue getting straight to the point. “Rhys said you had some females you wanted to bring back to Velaris. I came to see if they were interested, and Nesta decided to come along.” Nesta glowered in a way that suggested perhaps it was not so much her own idea. Feyre looked at Sabine. “Are you one of them?”

The poor girl looked completely lost. “One of who?”

“One of the females Cassian was talking about.”

“I, er, I -“ 

“I didn’t have a chance to discuss it with anyone, Feyre.”

“Oh, well. Okay. Is she?”

“Yes, she and Brisa, who is,” he looked around, “apparently somewhere else. Brisa is Hyllus’s daughter.”

Nesta looked Sabine up and down. “And who are you?”

The female drew herself to her full height, looking down at Nesta, crossing her arms and rustling her wings at the tone. “I’m Sabine. I’m the Commander’s sister.”

“What.” Nesta’s voice was flat.

“What?” Cassian and Feyre chorused.

Sabine flushed again. “I guess technically half-sister. We have the same father.”

This made no sense. He wondered if the female had some sort of issue. “I don’t know who the hell my father was. No one does.”

“My father raised me after my mother died. He told me I had a brother, but that he had never claimed parentage, that he didn’t even know about you until you were grown. Then when he saw you by the High Lord’s side after he first took power, he knew immediately you were his. He looked into it, found out what camp you had been born in. That your mother had died and you’d been raised a bastard. That you became the most powerful Illyrian in history. When you fought in the war,” she swallowed, eyes bright, “he told me you almost died. But that you saved thousands of lives. He had trained me since I could walk, and he told me that if I wanted, I could be a warrior. So I came to this camp, because Lord Hyllus was recruiting females. And now…here you are.”

Cassian exchanged a look with Feyre. This was ridiculous, might even be crazy, but she sure could fight and he could feel the strength in her. He didn’t want to push her away, not when she could be so helpful. She obviously believed this, but it sounded to him like her father had recognized her abilities and used him as a motivator, so she wouldn’t feel so…alone with all that power. It was probably a good idea, actually. Thankfully Feyre was here, she could sort all this out.

“That’s…”

“Bullshit,” Nesta interjected. Feyre glared at her but Sabine seemed relatively unfazed, merely rustling her wings again. 

“No, that’s not what I was going to say,” Feyre said soothingly. “It’s just hard to wrap my head around. But we can sort it all out if you come back to Velaris with me. Cassian has this idea that you can help to enhance the role of females in the Illyrian army, and we’d like to discuss that.”

“Brisa too?” 

“Yes,” Cassian said, “If she wants to. And if Hyllus will allow her to come.”

Nesta snorted. “Or even if he won’t, as long as she’s interested.”

*************

It tuned out Hyllus was honored Cassian wanted Brisa’s help, and Brisa and Sabine were winnowed to Velaris to start brainstorming with Feyre, Mor, and Amren. Nesta stayed behind, having decided she wanted to see more of the camps. By the time they had finally made it to the food tent the choices were limited but for once Nesta didn’t complain. She was quiet, which wasn’t unusual, but had a slight air of nervousness about her, which was. He didn’t try to puzzle it out. She’d tell him if she wanted to, which meant he’d probably be forever in the dark.

Finally, about two hours later than he had wanted to leave, he scooped Nesta up and launched them into the air. They had a little over an hour to fly to the next camp and he was tired and a little shaken by Sabine’s revelation. Not for the first time, he wished he could winnow. Or that Nesta could. Though this wasn’t so bad, holding her close, her arms around his neck, wind blowing her hair along his cheek. As if she could feel his thoughts, she turned her face to him. 

“Do you remember that book?”

“Which book?”

“That day in the library.”

“Oh, THAT book.” He smiled at the memory of walking into the library a few months ago, seeing Nesta sitting in a chair facing the window, face flushed, lips parted as she stared at the book in her lap. He had walked up behind her, not troubling to keep his steps quiet, but she’d been so absorbed she hadn’t even heard him until he’d looked over her shoulder and been so startled by her choice of reading material he’d cleared his throat. That had scared the shit out of her but it brought their constant teasing to a head and ultimately led to them beginning to overcome the chasm between them.

She seemed to be blushing, though it was hard to tell with their faces so close. “Well, I thought you should know…I’m not wearing any underwear.” Shocked, he loosened his arms and she slipped through them, plummeting down towards the trees, scream reverberating through the air. He folded his wings and dropped like a hawk, catching her before she reached the tree tops, then heading for the ground. She was shaking in his arms and nearly fell as he set her down, only staying on her feet because he grabbed her shoulders. As soon as she regained her balance she turned on him, smacking him repeatedly on the arm though she seemed to be aiming for his head. He ducked back, holding his arms out placatingly. 

“What. The. Fuck!” she screamed at him, punctuating each word with a punch. If you could even call it that. Cauldron, she was so small. If she would just train, he might be able to actually feel these.

“I’m sorry, oh, Nesta, I’m sorry, I just…You took me by surprise!”

She stopped, breathing hard, glaring at him, hands on hips. He straightened slowly, eyeing her warily. Her expression changed, and she seemed to be fighting to keep her angry face on.

“Did you seriously just drop me?”

“Umm…the possibility exists.”

“The big tough Illyrian warrior just dropped me.”

“It would seem so. But he would like to point out that he also caught you before you hit something.”

“And yet, the Illyrian still claims to be better at…flying…than the Seraphim?”

Cassian got an evil gleam in his eye. “Wanna see?”

Nesta stepped in closer. “Are you going to drop me again?”

He rolled his eyes. ‘I did that ONCE.”

“FIVE MINUTES AGO!”

“And this time I’ll be prepared.” She was still looking suspicious. “And I’ll set up a Siphon shield so you won’t fall even if I do.” 

She took another step. “Can I trust you to do that right?”

Good question. “Yes. Warrior will set up shield.”

One more step and she was practically on his feet. He could feel the heat of her through his leathers. “Promise?”

“I promise,” and he bent his head and kissed her deeply. She started unbuttoning his pants as he traced his fingers up the sides of her thighs, then the backs, up her ass which was, as promised, bare under the dress. He hardened as she eased his pants open enough to free him, sucking in a breath as she traced her finger along his length. His fingers found their way between her legs, tickling lightly until he felt her open to him. She let go of his cock and put her hands around his neck. Cupping one hand under her ass, fingers staying in reach of her, the other hand wrapped firmly around her back and he lifted her. Her legs wrapped around his waist, so she brushed against him and he could feel her slickness on the tip of his cock. His vision blurred for a second, but as soon as it cleared he bent his knees and launched them into the air. As soon as they were high enough to level out, he created a bubble shield six feet around them in all directions. She shifted, trying to slip herself onto him while he worked on keeping them in the air. Finally she took one hand off his neck and reached between them, easing the tip of his cock into her, then bent her knees and fully sheathed him. He gave an involuntary gasp and she gave a quiet moan. It was incredibly hard to concentrate on keeping them aloft as he marveled at the sensations of the wind on his face and wings, each beat of those wings providing a thrust deeper into her. 

“Do you have me?” she asked, and when he nodded, unable to speak, she let go of his neck and curved her head and shoulders backward, arms extended to the side, tightening her calves over his ass, pulling him farther into her than he had ever managed or imagined. Her climax hit her and she cried out, for the first time not stifling the cries against him but letting the wind whip them from her. Feeling her spasming around him was maddening, but he couldn’t quite find his release with the effort of keeping them aloft. He continued to pump into her, and, wrapping the arm behind her shoulders tighter, slipped the other hand between them, finding her clit, stroking in rhythm to the movement of their bodies until she went over the edge again. He slid that hand up to cup her head, pulling her into him, holding her through the throes. When she finished shuddering, she reached one hand over his shoulder and tickled it along his wing, finding that one spot with unerring precision, and finally, finally he came. With his release his back arched and his wings spasmed up, shooting the pair of them into an unexpected backflip. The force of the flip nearly ripped him out of her, then on the downswing drove him into her, deeper than he had ever dared, and another spasm of pleasure hit him, shattering his reason. One part of his mind advised him to straighten them out but he could barely feel any part of his body at that point so he settled instead for a semi-controlled descent to the forest floor. His feet touched down and his legs gave out completely, sending him sprawling backward, pulling Nesta down with him. She rolled off of him, shaking uncontrollably and emitting a high-pitched sound he had never heard from her before.

“Nesta, Nesta are you okay?” His voice was faint as he lay on his back, gasping for breath, before turning to reach for her. She lifted her head to look at him and he realized she wasn’t scared or crying - she was laughing. Pure, hysterical laughter, tears of mirth rolling down her face, her expression open for once. She looked so much like Feyre.

“You. Are. A. Terrible. Flyer,” she gasped out, before erupting into laughter again.

He chuckled, then started laughing himself, loud and long. “At least I didn’t drop you again,” he said when he could finally draw breath. “Besides, I just need practice.”

“Practice?” Another laugh bubbled out of her, then both of them were helpless with laughter again. He could feel a little shudder deep down the bond between them, a little crumbling of ice. “What makes you think I am EVER flying with you again?”

He rolled over and grabbed her, dragging her to him, and kissed her jaw. “Short memory?” Kissed her neck. “Poor impulse control?” Kissed her shoulder. “Bad judgment?” Nipped the spot where her neck and shoulder met. “A general admiration of my,” he licked up her neck, eliciting a small gasp, “wingspan?” She shoved off him and stood, pulling her dress down, brushing off leaves and pine needles, and he followed more slowly. Her back was to him as he buttoned himself in and straightened his leathers. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that she was his and he was hers, as he had murmured against that ice wall that first night but had never dared repeat. But he felt the ice re-forming, that small breach freezing over, felt her push herself back, and a small part of his heart broke as she turned to him and he saw that mask settled back over her beautiful face. He kept a cocky grin on his face and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Shall we?” She stepped into his arms and for the third time that night they shot into the air. They flew through the darkening skies in silence, the camp lights beginning to twinkle out through the trees ahead, and he held on tighter as the distance between them grew.


	7. Guy Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just our favorite Night Court males, hanging out, getting drunk.

Cassian braced his forearm against the table and stretched his other hand out, making grabbing motions in the air. Rhys slid the bottle and a glass over to him. He poured a thumb’s length, swirled it, and inhaled. The rich aroma filled his nose and he took a sip, rolling it in his mouth before swallowing. It burned a fiery trail down his throat, spreading heat through his stomach. Leaning back in his chair, he held the glass up to the waning light, studying the color. “That’s some good shit. Where you been hiding this?”

His brother was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, rubbing his temples. “Under my bed.”

Cassian snorted. “Under your bed?” 

“How the hell else was I going to keep it from Mor?”

“Good point.” They sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks, wings extended, soaking in the last of the warmth as the sun dropped behind the rooftops and faelights bloomed out around them. “What the hell am I doing?” he finally asked, almost under his breath as he leaned forward and rested his face on his arms.

Rhys crossed his arms , dropped his chin on his chest, and looked at him, just a touch of humor playing around his mouth. “You’re a glutton for pain, brother. This is just another battlefield and you’re going to keep throwing yourself in there and damn the consequences.”

Ah, well, he couldn’t argue with that. Neither of them even looked up as Azriel dropped out of the air, landed lightly on the roof, and stalked over to pour himself a drink. He slumped into another chair, and eyed the other two. “So I take it things went well,” he said drily. “No mates tonight?” He took a sip of his drink and raised the glass, squinting at it. “This is nice. Where did it come from?”

“Under his bed,” Cassian replied. Azriel just nodded in response, as if that was a logical source of high-quality, and no doubt very expensive, spirits. “And I’m sitting here drinking because of my so-called mate.” He sat up again and rubbed a broad hand up the back of his neck, ruffling his hair. “The camp tour went better than expected, actually, except for that one prick you already took care of,” he expanded. It was true. Not only had they found Sabine and Brisa to help with female integration among the warriors, but the new camp lords were all managing to introduce the policies Rhys had laid out with relatively little grumbling. One advantage of being able to hand-pick people, he supposed. “Now we just have to win over the rest of them. Which means visiting more of them. Which is also why I’m sitting here drinking.”

Rhys rustled his wings. “How’d it go with the two you and Mor picked up for me?” Cassian felt a twinge of guilt. He’d forgotten Mor had brought the female here in all the chaos that he and Nesta had landed in at that second camp. While he had been recruiting Sabine and Brisa, Rhys had gone ahead to straighten out the shitstorm that had arisen. A veteran from the war had taken exception to a female who was training with Siphons and had beaten him in what was supposed to be a friendly target competition. He’d waited until she was returning to her tent that night and attacked her with a knife, nearly severing the main muscle on her left wing before her screams brought the rest of the camp. The warlord had thrown the prick in the holding cell where he had sat for two days awaiting the High Lord’s arrival. Rhys, in a cold rage after seeing the female’s condition, had nearly misted him on sight but fatigue of bloodshed had stayed his hand. Instead, he’d called in Azriel to mete out the shadowsinger’s version of justice. This had caused a near-brawl between the old guard who thought the warrior had been well within his rights and the younger generation who wanted him to pay for his crimes, one that only fear of Rhys’ power had kept from turning into slaughter until Cassian and Nesta had dropped into the middle of it. The sight of the Commander who had fought so valiantly in the war snarling at them, Siphons flaring, had finally subdued the protest from the older camp males but there was still tension. 

Azriel’s cold face remained impassive but he didn’t try to keep the hatred from his voice or his shadows from curling around him as he told them what he’d done. How the male had protested that no bitch was going to be able to hold up under the pressure of battle, that they should all be clipped so they could breed more male warriors whether they wanted to or not. How he’d used Truth-Teller to create the same injuries the male had inflicted on the female, then dumped him in the middle of the mountains. If he made it to a camp, he could call in a healer. Otherwise… “But the female is doing fairly well. The camp healer did a good job getting her stabilized. Mor said they should be able to save the wing. But I’m not sure how it’ll affect recruitment for that camp.” It was a good point. Other females may be reluctant to join after the assault.

“Hopefully they’ll remember that the other members of the camp stepped in and stopped him before he did more,” Rhys said, “and realize that we won’t tolerate abuse of any recruit, male or female.” The other two nodded and fell back into silence. Cassian tipped back the last of his drink and reached for the bottle again, pouring himself a more generous measure.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Lucien emerged then pulled up short. “I didn’t realize you were back. Is this little gathering open to people without wings?”

“Yes,” Rhys replied, “as long as you’ve got a cock and balls. We’re mate-free tonight.”

Cassian snorted, eyeing Lucien. “Not sure you qualify, Fox Boy.”

Lucien just grinned. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Now, now,” Azriel interjected, “that sort of thing should be done behind closed doors.” Cassian shrugged and held the bottle out to Lucien. Rhys procured a glass, and Lucien poured his drink and sat, an amused glint still evident in his russet eye.

“What’s eating you?” he asked, gesturing with his chin at Cassian. 

“It’s more a question of who’s not,” Azriel murmured. Cassian shot him a glare while Rhys and Lucien chuckled. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Lucien asked innocently.

Cassian bristled at the red-headed male. It was one thing for his brothers to tease him, but this sly new member of the court hadn’t earned the right. “Shouldn’t you be taking care of your own mate?”

“I already did,” Lucien replied smoothly, “then came up here for some fresh air. I hadn’t realized I’d just be choking on testosterone and frustration.” The three warriors stared at him for a second before roaring with laughter. Rhys raised his empty glass at Lucien in a silent toast, then snagged himself a refill. “No, seriously, were there problems on your trip?”

Rhys shook his head. “Nothing more than the usual. It’s not easy trying to bring an entire culture around. But I agree it appears something is chafing my brother’s ass and I too would love to know what it is.”

“Other than his undersized pants?”

Cassian shot Lucien a look while he decided what to say. “Well, you might not know but Nesta and I…”

“We know,” chorused the other three males. “By the Cauldron, we know,” Lucien added under his breath.

“Right,” he said, feeling oddly self-conscious, “well, when we were flying to the camp that first day Nesta may have suggested that we try something new. In the air.”

Azriel inhaled his sip of liquor and started sputtering and coughing, and Rhys got up and went over to clap him on the back. Lucien sat up straighter, rubbing his chin. “I’d never thought of that.”

“Of what?” Cassian snapped.

“That you guys could do that. It certainly would add variety.”

Rhys gave him a knowing look. “It’s surprisingly challenging, though.”

Cassian and Azriel gaped at him. “You’ve done it?”

Rhys snorted. “Of course. Are you honestly telling me in the past five centuries you guys haven’t?”

“Not until now,” Cassian replied while Azriel shook his head. “Wait, have you done it with Feyre?”

“Well, no. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“An oversight,” he said with a shrug. “One I must rectify immediately, come to mention it.”

“Just don’t do it anywhere Nesta might see you,” Cassian warned.

Lucien was leaning back in his chair, watching them with a smirk. “I have never been jealous of the wings until this exact moment.”

“Don’t get me started on you,” Cassian warned. “You should be more cognizant of the fact that family members might be flying overhead the next time you have Elain go down on you up here in broad daylight.”

Rhys and Azriel both started and looked to Lucien, eyes narrowed, but Lucien was utterly unembarrassed. “Cognizant?”

“Yeah, it means -“

“Oh, I know what it means,” he interrupted, smile broadening, “I just had no idea you could string so many syllables together. I’m impressed. And will take that under advisement.”

Cassian shook his head. “Just be glad I didn’t have Nesta with me. Or Feyre. And you should be jealous of the wings,” he said, as he slowly stretched them to their full span, “for lots of reasons.”

Azriel cleared his throat. “So what happened?” Returning them to more pressing matters.

“Well, first I dropped her -“

“WHAT?”

“I caught her again!” Defensively. “And then we figured it out and it was…perfect. Well, not perfect, it’s really hard to control your altitude when things are happening, but you get it. Then afterwards, it seemed like that…barrier she holds was coming down, you know? Like I was going to finally be able to, I don’t know, really reach her through the bond. But as soon as she realized that she froze me out again, and it just hasn’t been the same.”

Rhys was looking at him with an incredulous expression as he said, “What the hell are you two usually doing? We could hear you all over the camps! You’re worse than Feyre and I ever were!”

“That is so not true, you did NOT have to live with you when you first got together,” Cassian snapped. Rhys looked vaguely puzzled while he tried to untangle that. Lucien looked slightly ill. “Besides, that’s not even what I mean. It’s just, I thought she was finally going to accept me, the bond, but now…It’s never going to happen.” His voice was forlorn. Rhys and Az exchanged looks, not sure what to say. Silence fell for a few minutes, broken only by a clink of glass against the table as Lucien set down his drink.

He leaned forward, fingers splayed across his knees. “Let me get this straight. You are talking about an Archeron sister.” Cassian nodded. “The most, er, challenging of all the Archeron sisters.” Cassian bristled at this characterization of his mate but Lucien continued, oblivious. “You’re complaining to Rhysand and I, who are mated to the other Archeron sisters, about the difficulty of establishing the bond. When both of our mates were in love with other males when we met them. Hell, they were both engaged! Rhys had to put Feyre back together when she basically wanted to die before she could recognize the bond, and I had to try to build a relationship with Elain when she had had her heart broken by Graysen and was completely traumatized by the Cauldron and terrified of her visions. I had to make myself leave when I wanted nothing more than to stay, so she could have enough breathing room to start to heal. We did everything we could to be a stabilizing force for them, to figure out what they needed when they couldn’t or wouldn’t tell us.” Lucien was breathing heavily, golden skin flushed, russet eye hard. “But after you and Nesta saved each other in the war, you walked away from her. You promised her you would fight for her, then you walked away and more or less ignored her for months. And you expect it to be easy? She can barely let her own sisters see who she really is, and they’ve always been there for her. You expect her to just drop her barriers and welcome you on in?”

The three Illyrians were staring at him, mouths agape, identical expressions of pure shock on their faces at the outburst. He stood up and leaned across the table at Cassian, snarling, the most aggressive expression any of them had ever seen on his face. “Buck up. Get over yourself. She’s willing to let you in her bed, accept that miracle for what it is and be patient. Figure out what she needs and stop thinking about what you want. Don’t run again or you’ll never get another chance.”

He turned to head back downstairs to Elain, shaking his head, muttering something under his breath.

“What was that?” Cassian challenged, recovering his voice. Lucien stiffened and turned slowly.

“I said, ‘Cauldron boil me, how the hell are you not still a virgin?’” he half-yelled across the rooftop. He turned back again to come face-to-face with Feyre. She seemed to be warring between anxiety and amusement at the lot of them. “I’m not sure you’re allowed up here,” he said to her, “unless you can use your shape-shifting to grow…never mind.” He pushed past her and went down the stairs.

Feyre shook her head as she approached the males still seated around the table. Cassian was opening and closing his mouth but nothing was coming out. “Lucien got your tongue?” she asked him innocently. He just stood, shook his head, and launched into the air. She turned to her mate. “What the hell are you guys doing up here?” She spotted the nearly empty bottle on the table. “Besides drinking all the good liquor.”

The two remaining males broke down into helpless laughter. “Cassian just had his ass handed to him by Fox Boy,” Rhys gasped out.

“That was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Azriel added.

Rhys stood, gathering Feyre in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I have a new project for us,” he said into her hair. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into him. 

“Okay. I’m tired though, can we just go to bed?”

He chuckled and pulled away a little, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Of course. Just remind me to tell you in the morning. ’Night, brother.”

Azriel nodded in response and spread his wings. “Cognizant,” he said to himself, shaking his head, and shot into the sky before wheeling towards the House of Wind. 

“What was all that really about?” Feyre asked.

“Cassian was feeling sorry for himself and Lucien wasn’t having it. You Archeron sisters. You’re going to be the death of us.” He squeezed her shoulders and planted a kiss below her ear. “And our salvation.” She leaned into him and they looked up at the night sky, lost in the starscape above them, lost in the depth of their bond.


	8. The Hellcat's Kitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian brings home a kitten, and Nesta continues her fondness of unusual places.

Nesta settled deeper into the couch, a couple books discarded on the floor and several more stacked on the coffee table. This new one was showing some promise, getting right to the good stuff. It had been two days since she’d last seen Cassian, when he’d dropped her off at the House of Wind on their return from the Illyrian camps. Cauldron knew where he’d been since. She could feel herself getting restless, which was why she’d snagged this stack of romance novels from the library before heading down here, just beating the storm that had broken. She didn’t need him, after all, just needed some…stimulation. And she’d come down to his apartment because she knew he was at a meeting at the townhouse so she could have the place to herself for a while. They were supposed to go to the symphony tonight, anyway, so this would save them some time since his apartment was closer to the Hall. 

“His tongue brushing against the seam of her lips had her opening fully for him…He buried himself in her with a mighty stroke.” Yes, this was a good one for sure. She read further, skipping the pages that attempted to lay out the no doubt flimsy plot. They were all the same, anyway. Beautiful but lonely virginal Fae female gets herself into some sort of trouble, handsome if brutish Fae male rescues her. She found another scene and began to read intently. “She slid her tongue over him, grazing lightly with her teeth.” Much better than the other one she had flipped through and discarded that kept referring to “jiggling bosoms” and “love mounds.” Though she still felt a little unsettled by the idea of putting a cock in her mouth. Somehow it was too intimate, too…vulnerable. 

She rested the book on her lap and stared out the window at the rain for a minute. Why was this so hard? Her sisters didn’t seem to have the same struggles. Well, Feyre had always been freer with her body, even as a mortal. But Elain had been even more modest than she was, yet she seemed to have no difficulty embracing every aspect of that Autumn Court bastard. Maybe because their lovers were their mates. She knew Cassian thought she was his mate, but he was obviously wrong. Though she had thought for a moment, before the Cauldron had exploded on that battlefield…in that one instant she had felt a flash of a heart-shattering loss… No. It was not to be, no one belonged to her and she did not belong to anyone but herself. The ice that had encased her since birth was too thick for anyone to get through, too cold for even fire to melt.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy what Cassian had to offer. A smile flitted across her face as she speculated about what they could do at the symphony tonight. A couple of weeks ago at the theater she had slipped into his lap after intermission and let him work her with his fingers. Nobody around them even knew when those clever hands had brought her over the edge. She had stifled any noises, controlled any change in her breathing. He had felt the change, felt her internal spasm, but had made no outward indication himself even as he hardened against her backside. After the performance was over she had dragged him into a deserted stairwell and he had taken her against the wall. Maybe tonight she could take it a step further. They did have a private box, after all, and the skirt she was wearing was voluminous enough to keep things hidden.

She heard his feet hit the apartment rooftop garden and suddenly decided she didn’t want to wait until tonight. Drawing her knees up, she propped herself on one elbow and let her legs fall open so when he came down the stairs he would see her ready for him. Then she heard his voice talking to someone and sat up quickly, arranging herself in a casually modest position, feet tucked underneath her, book in one hand. He came through the door then, shopping bag in one hand, other hand tucked into his jacket. Nobody was with him, and she cursed herself for having ruined her pose. He paused a step inside the door, surprise at her presence flickering across his face, before heading into the kitchen and setting down the bag. 

“Hey, Nes,” he drawled, his usual cocky grin now firmly in place. “Didn’t expect to see you until tonight.”

“Who were you talking to?”

Was that embarrassment? “Oh. Umm. Oh well, here,” he stammered, pulling the hand out of his jacket and extending it, a tiny, bedraggled, soaking wet kitten shivering on his palm. “I was talking to him. He’s a kitten.”

Nesta stood up and walked over to him, staring at the creature. “Yes, I see that,” she said drily. “Where did it come from?”

“He was sitting in the alley next to the store when I went to get more coffee. He looked cold and lost and half-drowned so I just picked him up.”

“What’s its name?”

A short laugh. “I don’t know, I’ve had him all of two minutes and didn’t get a chance to ask him.”

She plucked the kitten from his palm and headed into the kitchen. He watched a little nervously as she grabbed a towel and started rubbing the kitten dry. Looking over her shoulder at him, she asked, “Can’t you use your Siphons or something to help dry it off?”

He shook his head. “Dry him? No. Incinerate him, sure.” He swallowed his smile as she clutched the kitten closer to her chest at his words and walked to the cooling box. He grabbed a towel himself and started rubbing his face and hair dry, watching while she rummaged around. She pulled out the leftover chicken from his lunch yesterday and a small container of the goat’s milk he favored and set them on the counter. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a cat lover.”

Her blue-gray eyes met his in a cool stare. “I’m not. Pets are a waste of valuable resources.” She proceeded to chop up a little chicken and put it in a saucer, then set saucer and kitten on the floor. A second saucer with the goat’s milk soon joined it. The kitten had stopped shivering and tucked into the food ravenously. When both plates were empty and licked clean by the little pink tongue, Nesta picked the tiny cat up and headed for the couch where she settled it into her lap. Surprisingly loud purrs emanated from the little bundle of cat-in-lap.

Cassian cleared his throat. “I can’t keep him, you know.”

“She’s a female,” was Nesta’s only reply.

“How do you know?”

She shot him a withering look. “Are you kidding me?”

“Fine, her then. I can’t keep her.”

“Cats are good at exterminating pests though.”

He looked around the spotless apartment. “Are you suggesting I have a rodent problem I don’t know about?”

“You’re the one who rescued her.”

“I thought pets were a waste of valuable resources.”

“They are. Do you have anything we could use as a litterbox?”

He shook his head in disbelief. “No, and I’m not going to get one.”

Nesta glared at him as she set the kitten down on a blanket and went up to the rooftop garden. He could hear her digging around up there for a few minutes and the shed door slam shut, then she returned, wet hair coming out of its braid and plastering to her neck. She held a small box that she had filled with some of the leftover soil/sand mix Elain had recommended for some of his plants, and set it down in the corner. Still glaring at him, she stalked past him, picked the kitten up, and set her down in the box. The kitten looked around for a few seconds, then started digging. Nesta straightened, put her hands on her hips, and squared up to him, feet braced for a fight.

“She needs a name.”

“No. I’m not naming something I’m not keeping. I only rescued him -“

“Her.”

“I only rescued her because I didn’t want her to die of hypothermia. I’ll find her a home, I promise.”

“She is home.” 

As if in response to her words, the kitten jumped out of the box and scampered across the floor. Now that she was drying, her coat was turning a glorious soft gray, her eyes a nearly-matching gray-blue. She arched her back and skittered sideways, then pounced on Nesta’s bare toes before scampering over to attack the edge of the rug.

“Her name is Willow,” Nesta said, picking her up again and laying down on the couch, settling the cat on her stomach. Willow and Nesta stared at each other for a minute, then the kitten began cleaning her face methodically. Cassian sat down next to Nesta’s feet. 

“I’m not home enough,” he said, trying to keep his voice reasonable, “it wouldn’t be fair to her.”

“She can stay with me when you’re not around. There’s always someone at the townhouse.” 

“I’m supposed to cart a cat across the city every time I have to go somewhere?”

“Yes.” She didn’t know why she felt so strongly about the little ball of gray fluff who was now contentedly licking her tail, but she needed this kitten to stay. Willow finished her ablutions and curled herself into a ball. For a minute the only sounds were the purr echoing through the room and the rain lashing against the windows Cassian began rubbing Nesta’s feet, and she marveled at the feel of his callouses lightly scraping against her bare skin, over the way his enormous hand engulfed her foot. She leaned her head back against the couch’s pillows and watched him through half-closed eyes.

“Why don’t you just keep her yourself? She obviously likes you.” 

She didn’t answer, and he looked up at her face. Her expression was set, stoic, but there was something in her eyes…

“Do you not want me here?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. 

“Of course I do,” he said softly. “I will always want you with me. I just didn’t realize you and Willow were a package deal.”

One corner of her mouth tipped up a little and she reached a finger to stroke the sleeping kitten’s ear. The purr, which had quieted, rebounded to its previous pitch. Outside the rain stopped, the sound slowing to a quiet drip, drip from the roof. He lifted her feet and settled them in his lap, sliding his broad hand up her calf, gently kneading the muscle. 

“Do you still want to go to the symphony tonight?” he asked, “or do you want to stay home with Willow?” 

Nesta looked at the cat, then at Cassian’s hand on her leg, then up to his face, taking in the softness in his eyes, tenderness in his expression. “I think she’ll be fine. We should go. Feyre said this piece is amazing.”

Cassian gently lifted the kitten off Nesta’s stomach and nestled her into a blanket on the chair. He took Nesta’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “In that case, we best get ready to go immediately.” 

Fifteen minutes later, they were walking through the streets, not quite touching but unconsciously matching their pace. The city smelled like ozone after the rain, and Nesta inhaled the clean scent deeply. The music hall was only about twelve blocks from the apartment, and they took their time, pausing to look in store fronts and to watch waterfowl fly in and land on the river. They took their place in the box just as the lights were dimming, and Cassian found her hand as the music began. 

Nesta had been to the symphony several times over the year since she had come to live in Velaris, but this particular piece… It started off light, deceptively simple, a flash of sun dancing of the Sidra. Then the drums began, and the beat echoed through her bones. Layer after layer until the music surrounded her, filled her, aroused all her senses. She had never heard music like this. Her half-joking idea of Cassian taking her here became a burning need. Her hand slipped into his shirt, then into the waistband of his pants. He must have been feeling the same pull from the music as he was already hard, and he sucked in a breath as she brushed him with the tips of her fingers. She leaned over and whispered into his ear, “You’re going to have to be very, very quiet,” then she unbuttoned his pants and slipped into his lap, leaning back against his chest, hiking the back of her skirt and settling the front over her knees. He spread his legs to broaden hers, then lifted her slightly to slip a hand between them and ease himself into her. They kept their movements small, rocking slightly, following the music, building each other slowly, tantalizingly up. As the sympony swelled in the final movement, he wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her more firmly against his chest, and slipped his other hand under her skirts. He found her clit and teased her, lightly rubbing as he bucked his hips to push farther into her. She leaned back and closed her eyes, giving herself over to the glorious music, the feel of him filling her, the pounding of his heart against her back, until she finally shattered. He felt her contracting against him and gave a quiet grunt and curled forward slightly as he went over the edge with her, biting her neck to stifle himself. 

This time Nesta couldn’t control her breathing, couldn’t stop the tears in her eyes from rolling down her cheeks, but she didn’t care. The music softened and lightened again, becoming playful, then at the last were a few heartbreaking minor notes. Applause erupted and Cassian lifted her off of him, setting her on her feet in front of him as he deftly buttoned himself back and straightened her skirts. The lights came on and she turned to him and saw the moisture on his face as well. She reached a hand up to cup his cheek and he leaned into it as he brushed a loose strand of hair off her face. They were both flush and starry eyed, and she didn’t know how much of what she was feeling was the music and how much was just him. People began heading to the exits and she dropped her hand and joined the throng but she could feel him behind her, his eyes on her. Could feel him trying to trace a bond that had nowhere to go. But she wouldn’t worry about that, not tonight. As they reached the street he took her hand and for once she didn’t pull away. They walked back to their apartment in contented silence, the clouds above clearing to expose patches of stars, the trickling of the Sidra somehow matching the rhythm of the music they had just left, the blood still pounding through their veins. He drew his thumb down the back of her hand and then let go to unlock their door. Willow scampered to meet them and Nesta picked her up and held her to her chest. Cassian’s arms came around her and though she stiffened, ready to put that distance between them again, this time he didn’t let go. He pulled her to his chest and pressed his cheek against the top of her head and they just stood there, listening to music of the kitten’s purr, letting the sound wash over them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes from early in chapter modified from A Court of Mist and Fury


	9. Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet interlude

“Will you ever stop being a royal asshole?” 

Cassian tilted his head back so he could see Nesta more easily from where he was sprawled on the couch. Her hands were on her hips, a paper bag crumpled in the right one, face flushed, those beautiful blue-gray eyes narrowed. She looked just as beautiful upside-down as she did right side up. “You’ve got the wrong guy,” he said, working to keep his expression solemn.

“Oh, so you’re saying someone else ate all my cookies and didn’t replace them?”

“I’m saying that I’m just an ordinary Illyrian asshole, not a royal one. You want a royal one, go talk to Rhys.” Her lips twitched, and he knew she was trying not to laugh. Swinging so his feet were on the ground, he held out his hand. She stared at it in some confusion. “Come on, give me the package. I’ll go to the market right now and get you some more.” 

“It’s late, though. It can wait until tomorrow.”

“No, you’re right, I should’ve gotten more.” Reluctantly, she handed him the paper packet. It was some fancy brand of chocolate cookies that he had never even heard of before she moved in, but that had become a dietary staple for both of them. He rose and grabbed his jacket. “Need anything else while I’m out?” 

Naturally, she had a full list. He grumbled to himself as he headed to the roof. Fortunately, it was only a couple minutes’ flight to the market, and it was late enough it wasn’t too busy. He grabbed the cookies - three packets this time - as well as tea, oranges, bread, cheese, and butter. The grocer chatted to him easily about the upset at the last sporting match, and they chuckled together over Amren’s violent reaction to her team getting crushed. He packed everything in his bag, careful to put the cookies on top so they wouldn’t get crushed, and launched into the air right outside the store. As he soared towards his apartment, he could see his lights on from the sky, and it struck him - until Nesta had come to live with him, he had never once returned home to anything but a dark, empty apartment. 

He was smiling to himself as he came through the door. Nesta was curled on the couch with a book, and looked up eagerly at his return. He handed her one bag of cookies which she immediately tore into, and put the rest of the food away before joining her. Snagging a cookie for himself, his eyes were drawn to her face as she took a bite, attention still focused on her book. She was the only person he’d ever seen who looked beautiful chewing. The press of those full, perfect lips, the subtle movement of her cheek muscles, the bob of her throat as she swallowed. Her tongue flicked over her lower lip, seeking the last crumbs. It was utterly mesmerizing. The treat finished, her mouth fell slightly open at some twist in her book, her eyes darting across the page before she turned it. He started to take a bite of his own cookie, but then her breathing hitched at some unexpected plot twist, and her teeth embedded themselves in that glorious lip. Cookie forgotten, he surged across the couch, knocking her book away. Her breathless protest was swallowed as he cupped the side of her face in his hand and pressed his lips against hers. His tongue gently swept the seam of her lips and she opened for him, her mouth tasting gloriously of chocolate. Her hands tangled in his hair and they wrapped themselves around each other, tongues and lips playing until both were breathless. He pulled away for a moment, resting on his elbows, and just stared into her eyes, awed again by the fact that she had chosen him. 

Nesta chuckled and raised herself up to kiss him again. “See,” she said, settling back against the cushion, “I told you those cookies were good.”


	10. Party Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang celebrates Mor's birthday

“Who’s going to be there?” Nesta sat on the couch next to Cassian, tucking her feet underneath her, eyes on Willow as the kitten batted around a little ball that had mysteriously appeared in the apartment a few days prior. 

“The usual suspects. Your sisters, my brothers, Fox Boy, Amren, obviously Mor. Oh, and Sabine and Brisa.”

“And I have to go.”

One side of his mouth pulled up into his crooked smile as he glanced sideways at her. “No, you don’t have to go, but your presence would be appreciated. Besides,” he put an arm over her shoulders and pulled her closer, “we might find something fun to do on the way there. Or home.”

She rolled her eyes, but he did have a point. There were lots of shadowy corners and solitary gardens in Velaris where they could sneak away for a little excitement. “Okay, fine. But I’ll have to go to the townhouse, I don’t have the right dress here. And don’t expect me to dance.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then her jaw. “That’s fine, we can fly up there and head to the restaurant with the rest of the group.” Willow zipped by and he snagged her with one hand, lifting her high above his head. She looked down at him, waved her little paws, and squeaked in protest, and he chuckled and brought her down to eye level. “What, tiny one?” The kitten planted a foot on his lips, and he kissed the little pink pads before setting her back on the ground. She arched her back, pounced on his toes, then scampered off through the kitchen. 

The sun was beginning its descent as they landed in front of the townhouse, earning open-mouthed looks from the kids playing on the street. Before they could even make it through the gate, they were swarmed by children, all clamoring for Commander Cassian to take them for a flight. He grabbed one and tossed him in the air, catching him easily before setting him on his feet again. Nesta headed up the walk while the rest of the kids started climbing Cassian’s legs, turning back in the doorway to watch him spinning and tossing each child, then slowly extend his wings so they could admire them. The door opened behind her, and Mor’s voice said, “He does that on purpose, you know. Lands in the street instead of the roof so that the kids will come over.”

Nesta didn’t reply, keeping her eyes on the warrior while he held his arms out, two children swinging off each arm, and she heard Mor’s exasperated huff as she retreated into the house. He looked up to catch her watching and grinned, pure joy lighting his face, and she turned and walked into the entrance hall. She could hear voices in the family room so headed quietly up the stairs to her room. It had only been five days since Cassian found Willow and she unofficially moved in, but her room already felt vacant. It even smelled different. She sat on the bed for a minute savoring the silence before taking a deep breath and crossing to the armoire. There was a specific dress she thought would work, perhaps a little plain compared to what the others would wear but something easy to walk in and nicer than what she usually wore. Yanking the doors open, she stopped and stared. A glorious dress in a blue so light it was almost white - like thick ice - hung there. It was cut perfectly for dancing, though more daring than her usual choices, and small crystals lined the broad shoulder straps, the neckline, and the bottom of the flared skirt in a pattern that looked like mountains. She stripped quickly and slipped it on. The back was bare almost to the waist, the neckline deep and square, and the dress clung to her body until just below her hips, where it flared out to float above her knees. In her mortal life, she never would have left the house in this dress, but here… There was a gentle knock on her door and she opened it to reveal Nuala, who slipped in to arrange her hair. When the wraith was done, Nesta dug through her armoire and pulled out the only pair of shoes that could possibly work with this dress, then left without a glance at the mirror. 

There were more voices in the family room, she realized as she walked slowly down the stairs. She paused in the doorway and scanned the full room, cataloguing the occupants. Rhys. Feyre. Elain. Lucien. Amren. Mor. Those two Illyrian females. Her heart began to pound. The shadowsinger. Another male and female she didn’t recognize. Before she could turn into the dining room instead, her sister spotted her. “Nesta!” Feyre over, grabbed her wrist, and dragged her through the room to where she had been standing with Elain. “That dress is incredible, where did you find it?”

“In my armoire. I thought you got it for me.”

“No,” Feyre said, with a look over her shoulder, “Rhys’s dressmaker strikes again, I guess.”

The High Lord just grinned from where he stood by the bar. Nesta scanned her sisters. Both were also dressed to the nines, Feyre in a truly daring midnight blue dress, that lightened to the bluish-gray color of dawn at the hemline, Elain in a slightly more modestly-cut creamy concoction with red and orange flowers embroidered over the soft fabric of the full skirt. More importantly, both were glowing with happiness. Elain’s brown eyes were clear and calm, centered in a way she had never seen before, even in the mortal lands.

“Where have you been?” Feyre demanded. Nesta retreated a little at her tone. “I was starting to get worried! Cassian said you were hanging out at his place, but for all I knew he had, I don’t know, murdered you and dumped your body in the Sidra.”

Lucien snorted from over Elain’s shoulder. “Well, that got dark in a hurry,” he said drily, mouth quirked. Feyre glared at him while Elain smiled. “Come on, now, it’s a big leap from ‘he asked her to move in’ to ‘he dumped her body in the river.’” Feyre shot a fist of flame at him that he easily blocked while shielding his mate. “Now play nice. Let’s not ruin Mor’s birthday with a fire fight.”

“Seriously, though, did you move in with Cassian?” She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, waiting for her answer, and her skin started to crawl. Ignoring her pulse beginning to race, the bile rising in her throat at the pressure from so many stares, she lifted her chin, willing the ice that had always saved her to sculpt her mask. 

“She adopted a kitten,” came that familiar rough voice. Cassian stepped up behind her, not quite touching her, but his huge body blocked her from the view of everyone except her sisters and their mates. Did he know? She didn’t even care as long as she could breathe easily again.

“A kitten!” Feyre exclaimed, at the same time Elain cooed, “Oh, a kitten! When can we meet him?”

“Her,” Cassian corrected automatically. Nesta’s mouth twitched up involuntarily.

“Maybe next week I can bring her over. We need to get her used to flying anyway.”

Feyre shook her head. “I can’t picture how you ended up with a cat, but you’ll have to tell me on the way. We should get moving.”

Indeed, everyone else was shuffling towards the door. It was a warm evening, but Feyre draped a shawl over her shoulders so Nesta and Elain followed suit. As they walked down the street in small groups, Nesta told her sisters how Cassian had found the kitten soaking in the storm the previous week and had brought her home, intending to find her somewhere else to live. How she had decided that they were obligated to keep her, having saved her life, and how they now spent what seemed like all of their time figuring out what toys she liked best and laughing at her antics. Elain chatted about the work she was doing with Azriel, trying to call in visions at will instead of them springing on her involuntarily.

“I keep getting this one of a glacier splitting apart, a huge chunk of ice falling into the sea, and a sense of something, some…creature springing free,” she said. “We can’t figure out what it means. He contacted Kallias to let him know, in case that means something to him, but he said it didn’t trigger anything concerning his Court.” She shrugged. “It’s probably nothing.”

“None of your other visions were nothing,” Nesta said, her voice a little sharp. 

Feyre nodded in agreement. “Just because you don’t know what it is doesn’t mean it’s not important. Maybe it’ll, I don’t know, expand?”

Elain just shrugged. 

They reached the restaurant. It was tiny, and Rhys had reserved the entire thing for this party. The dark female who scurried over at their arrival greeted Rhys, Feyre, Mor, and Amren as old friends. The food was brought over as they all took their seats, and pretty soon the restaurant was full of a pleasant cacophony of voices talking over one another, laughter, and clinking glasses. Nesta let it all wash over her, not trying to follow the conversation as she savored the rich, complex food. One set of dishes was cleared and another was brought as presents appeared on the table. Mor gave a little squeal and started unwrapping immediately. A set of novels by a favored author, a fancy wineglass set, a beautifully woven wrap that she immediately threw around her shoulders. She plucked Nesta’s small box off the table and unwrapped it, then let it fall on the table, staring at it, stunned. “By the Cauldron,” she whispered, “it’s beautiful.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did you find it?”

Nesta cleared her own throat. “Just a jeweler. Not far from here, actually.” She didn’t mentioned that she’d commissioned it specifically, choosing the jewels to match the colors Mor usually favored.

Mor reverently lifted the necklace so everyone could see it, and there were gasps around the table. It was a delicately woven web of yellow and white gold, narrow at the clasp but widening to about two inches where it would fall below her collarbones. The widest point was set with tiny rubies and diamonds arranged like flames; the movement of the necklace made it look like the flames were flickering. Mor vanished the pendant she had been wearing and Azriel stood to help put the new one on, then she dipped her chin at Nesta. “Thank you. I…Thank you.” 

Once again everyone was staring at her and she straightened herself as she drew slightly back into her chair, nodding and murmuring, “You’re welcome.” Cassian leaned forward, calling for the next present to be opened while pouring himself another glass of wine, and as everyone’s attention turned back to Mor he reached down and squeezed her hand. She brushed her knee against his thigh in response then withdrew her hand. Presents were finished with and dessert had been served when Amren turned to her. 

“What have you been working on while I’ve been away?” The tiny female’s silver eyes may have now been full Fae, but they were still shrewd as if she knew the answer already.

“Nothing.”

Amren snorted. “Nothing?”

“I still can’t access any power. I can feel it there, but since that battle, since the Cauldron was reformed it’s…there’s something blocking it.”

Amren shook her head, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She seemed about to reply when Mor stood up and announced, “We’re all heading up to Rita’s for some dancing!” Everyone stood and made their way to the door. Amren and Sabine headed uptown, while the rest of them turned up the hill towards the lounge. Mor, Cassian and Azriel were joking about something with the unfamiliar male, Lucien and Elain were meandering hand in hand, Rhys and Feyre were doing that silent communication thing that they thought nobody noticed, so Brisa and Nesta found themselves at the back of the pack. Thankfully the Illyrian seemed no more inclined for casual conversation than she was.

Rita’s was packed as it always was. Males and females, High Fae and other species, all dancing in a mob. Cassian managed to find a booth that was empty (or he emptied one) and slid into it with Nesta, Brisa, Lucien, and Elain while the others all hit the dance floor. Cassian took everyone’s drink order and went up to the bar. Lucien tried to keep a conversation going, but it was almost impossible over the music. Elain convinced Lucien to join her in the fray, and dragged him off just as Cassian returned. Nesta sat with the two Illyrians watching the dancers, interrupted by the waiter coming over and distributing their drinks. He eyed Nesta appreciatively, then blanched and scurried away when Cassian snarled. She elbowed him. “Don’t be an overbearing Illyrian bastard,” she snapped. 

He just looked at her, eyebrows raised. “But that’s literally what I am.”

Brisa laughed, and Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Fair enough. Don’t be an asshole.”

He shrugged and grinned. “Wanna dance?”

“I already told you I wouldn’t.”

“I know, just figured I’d double check.” They sat, sipping their drinks, watching the chaos around them. His eyes kept straying to the his friends, she noticed. Mor, Azriel, Rhys, and Feyre were dancing together, Elain and Lucien nearby. 

“You go ahead and join them,” she told him. “I’m going to use the restroom.” 

“Do you want me to come too?” Brisa asked, but Nesta just shook her head. 

“No need, I’ll just be a minute.”

Cassian pointed her to the back corner and watched her edge around the dancing bodies to reach it. She turned back just before entering to see him rise and cross to the others, wings tucked in tight, body moving instinctively with the beat as he avoided the dancers. Brisa was still sitting in the booth, ankle on knee, foot twitching in time.

The restroom was surprisingly clean. A cluster of females stood at the sinks, adjusting themselves in the mirrors. She emerged from using the facilities as they finished their last tweaks and left, laughing at some private joke. While she washed her hands another female appeared and joined her at the row of sinks, leaning over to check herself in the mirror before turning to Nesta. 

“You came here with Morrigan’s friends, didn’t you?” the female asked. Nesta stiffened and nodded. “Oh, I’m so jealous, I’ve always wanted to meet her. I’ve heard she’s a regular but I’ve been coming almost every night for weeks and this is the first time I’ve seen her here. You’re the High Lady’s sister, aren’t you?” 

“One of them.”

“Do you think you could introduce me?”

“To Feyre?”

“No,” she laughed, “I mean, sure, the High Lady’s a legend, I’d love to meet her, but she’s also, like, obviously taken. Do you think you could introduce me to Mor?”

Nesta’s voice was flat. “No.”

The other female was taken aback. “What do you mean, ‘no?’” she asked, a little aggressively.

“Mor is the friendliest person in the city. You want to meet her, go introduce yourself.” The female stared at her, green eyes narrowed, before flicking her dark hair over her shoulder and leaving. Nesta followed more slowly, pausing on the edge of the floor.

Feyre and Rhys were still dancing together, oblivious to the crush of bodies around them. Elain and her mate were doing the same, Lucien’s hands on her waist, her arms above her head, eyes closed as she swayed against him. The other three were still dancing together, laughing, moving in synchrony without thought. Five centuries, Nesta realized. They had been doing this exact thing for five centuries - twenty times her own span of years. Cassian’s face was open, relaxed, that little slight tension around the eyes that he always showed with her totally absent. This wasn’t just friendship. This was family, this was something she could never quite be a part of, something that had evolved through pain and trial and having each others’ backs again and again. He wasn’t even looking for her, hadn’t even noticed she was still gone. She started to edge around towards the door, needing to get out, away from the heat and the noise and the smell, but her progress was impeded by the fact that she couldn’t take her eyes off of them. Mor scooted out of the group for a second and reappeared with Brisa, who joined right in, that lithe dancer’s body finding the rhythm easily. Cassian and Azriel shifted to include her, and at that Nesta pulled herself together and slipped through the door. She stood just outside for a minute, gulping the fresh air, pushing against that feeling of…of loss. She had been deluding herself, she realized. For how could you lose something you never really had?

She gathered the shawl around her shoulders, grateful for it now that the night had cooled enough for the air to have a little bite, and headed down the hill. After a couple of blocks she felt him behind her. “You should have stayed with your friends,” she said. 

“I wanted to be with you.”

She shook her head, letting out a breath. Suddenly wings wrapped around her, not touching her but blocking her path. She stopped abruptly, Cassian so close behind her she could feel the heat emanating from him. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

“Did you know I’ve never lived with someone?” he said, his voice quiet. “I mean, I’ve had roommates, shared living quarters with other warriors, but I’ve never asked a lover to stay with me.” He laughed, a quiet huff of breath with little mirth. “Hell, I usually couldn’t wait for them to leave. My brothers have each lived with lovers, sometimes for decades. Mor too, though not for as long. But not me. Five hundred years since the war ended, and not once have I wanted to share my life. Until now.”

Nesta swallowed hard at the vulnerability in his voice. “Feyre said…she told me you were Mor’s first.”

“Yes.” There was so much pain in that word.

“She also told me why. What you risked, for her. What Rhys did afterward.” He was silent. “Do you regret it?”

“No.”

“Even though you two never…”

He put his hands on her arms and stepped closer behind her, her back brushing his chest. She was totally enveloped by him, his heat, his scent, as he spoke low in her ear. “What Mor and I did, it saved her from being sold into a lifetime of misery. If it hadn’t been Eris, it would’ve been somebody else. I will never regret being a part of that, though I do regret not being able to save her from her family afterwards. But we were never meant to be together. I’m not what she wants.” An image of the girl in the bathroom rose to Nesta’s mind, unbidden. “And she’s not what I want. It’s been several centuries since she became nothing but a sister to me.” She didn’t know what to say in response to this, whether to tell him that she remembered every cold look from Mor, every time he pulled away when his so-called sister approached. So she said nothing, just stood there, encased in his wings, then his arms as he wrapped them around her. “Should we go back to the dance?”

Her body locked up. “I don’t know how to dance,” she admitted, “not like that.” She could dance a reel with the best of them, the impersonal precision of it, but what she had seen in that hall…

“I can teach you,” he murmured. Then, “What is it about people looking at you that makes you so uncomfortable?”

How had he known what it was? She wasn’t surprised he had noticed how she felt, he was uncommonly good at feeling changes in the tenor of emotions. A talent that served him well when commanding legions. But that he had pinpointed it so exactly… “I don’t like being judged,” she whispered.

“But what if they’re not judging you?” He pressed a gentle kiss to her neck. “What if they’re noticing how beautiful you are?”

“It’s still a judgment.” He pulled back just a little, not releasing her, but still putting distance between them. She turned her head to look at him, unsure of what she would see on his face. He was studying her, head cocked to the side, expression contemplative.

“I never thought of it that way.”

“No one ever does.” 

He smiled at that, not his usual cocky grin but the soft smile that he reserved for her, and kissed her temple. “Come on. Let me teach you to dance.” He spun her to face him then slid one arm around her back and the other under her buttocks, lifting her to his chest, before sweeping back his wings and sending them skyward. In just a few powerful beats they were on the roof at Rita’s. The music was pounding out the open windows and doors and she could hear the movement of the people below her feet but they were alone up there. He placed himself behind her, hands on her sides, and bent his head to speak in her ear. “All music tells a story. Sometimes, like that symphony last week, it’s such a good story that you need nothing else to feel what the composer is trying to say. Other music relies on the people listening to complete it.” She looked sideways at him in surprise; she had never pegged him for being so educated on the nuances of music. It was so easy to underestimate him. He went on, her look unnoticed or ignored. “This type of music is meant to have a lot of people dancing to it, and that’s part of its story. Close your eyes.” When she had obeyed, he went on. “Feel the beat.” His fingers tapped lightly against her ribs, matching it exactly. “Now, listen to the melody over the top of it. What does it say to you?” She opened her mouth to speak, but felt him shake his head. “Don’t tell me, just…feel it.” 

At first, it sounded harsh, oppressive. She felt pushed by it, wanted to push back, to resist. Behind her, Cassian began moving, a little sway without moving his feet, the warrior’s body graceful despite his bulk. He had told her once that fighting was just a dance with bloodshed. She caught that thought, followed it, opening her mind to the story the music and the people below her were telling. The song was one of loss and rediscovery, she realized. Of losing your sense of self, and finding it again in the people around you. She started to move, and it was easy. Easy to surrender to the music, to the male behind her who felt her movement and matched it, then deftly took over, carrying her rhythm as their feet began to move. He spun her to face him and she opened her eyes. His hair was coming out of its tie, brushing against his cheekbone, and he held her gaze as he ran his hands down her body, over her hips, up her bare back, down her arms. She didn’t know how long they danced, lost in the energy pulsing through them from below their feet. Finally she was spent and panting, and he took her in his arms and they just swayed gently back and forth as he kissed her lips, her forehead, her temples, below her ear, down her neck. He stilled them finally, closing his eyes, and just breathed in the scent of her, his lips resting at the junction of her neck and shoulder. She was distantly aware that she was sweaty, her hair had half come down and was sticking to her neck, that she should be stepping away, spooling herself back in but she just couldn’t. Couldn’t even find the part of her that wanted to. Without a word he swept her into his arms and vaulted into the sky, following the path of the river up the city, a dark ribbon between all the lights, drawing them towards home.


	11. Siphon Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training some younger Illyrians presents Cassian with some challenges; Nesta tries to make him feel better

Cassian flipped open the large case and turned it around to show off the contents. Sabine and Brisa leaned over, studying the array of Siphons. All three colors - red, blue, and green - and every common size. “I know you haven’t had a lot of Siphon training yet, but it’s about time you start, so, take your pick.”

Brisa reached out and brushed her hand along them, longing in her eyes. Sabine just crossed her arms. “I can’t use them,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because we tried. Our father,” she emphasized, while Cassian held back his flinch, “got several for me to try, and none of them were compatible. Lord Hyllus did the same.” Brisa looked up and nodded.

“That was true for me too,” she said. “My father thinks that perhaps females may need something different from their Siphons. That the power might work a little differently.”

Cassian shook his head. “We have a number of females in other camps using the regular Siphons without issue. Did either of you try using multiples? You’re both uncommonly powerful. Azriel and I had the same issue until we divided our power among several.”

The smaller female shrugged. “I haven’t tried more than one. I doubt my father even thought of that.”

Sabine shook her head. “We tried, our father thought that might be necessary. They just shattered, and I destroyed half the forest.” 

Hmm. Now that sounded familiar. “Who was your mother?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Her name was Temeia.”

“Was she Illyrian?” She nodded. “Are you sure?”

She straightened to her full height and glared at him. “What are you implying, Commander?”

Cauldron grant him patience. “Nothing,” he said through his teeth, “other than that the only other person I know who shattered Siphons like that is the High Lord. I was wondering if it was a trait that resulted from Illyrian bloodline crossing with High Fae.”

She had the good sense looked slightly abashed at least. “I was young when she died, but I remember her. She was definitely Illyrian, I remember her teaching me how to fly.” If the woman she remembered was really her mother, but he didn’t say that. He turned their attention back to the Siphons in the case and had them touch each of them, trying to sense what felt the most right. Brisa was immediately drawn to the green ones, but the only one that seemed even remotely likely to contain her power was enormous, encompassing the entire back of her tiny hand. He sorted through the other green ones that contained the same vibrational frequency as the one she held, finally finding a pair that would fit her and seemed likely to contain her power between the two of them. She cupped them in her hands and they shimmered, accepting the flow of power and balancing it until they began to glow. They looked almost ridiculously large as she slipped the gauntlets containing them over her hands. Sabine still refused to even try to test them but he’d address that problem later.

“Let’s play,” he said, and led them to rings of the abandoned camp. Before he asked Brisa to channel her power, he set a shield around himself and Sabine, just in case. “Now, learning to shield first is the most important thing. It both teaches you control and will provide you protection while you fight with a conventional weapon.” Both females nodded. At least Sabine was willing to listen. “So, take a breath and center yourself.” He watched as she did so, noting the ease with which her energy connected to her core. Centering was one of the hardest things for most Illyrians to learn; he wondered if she had been born with that ability or if her father had trained her that way. It explained her flexibility and balance when she fought as well. “Now, imagine your power is a bubble that flows from your core, evenly through both Siphons, and expands around you. You control how far it expands the same way you control your body when you fight. It’s just an extension of yourself.” She nodded again, a look of intense concentration on her face. “Now, try to send a shield out a couple of inches around you.”

She took a deep breath and widened her hands unconsciously. A green bubble formed around her and extended outward - and kept extending, shooting outward until it met Cassian’s shield. He could feel the energy in it attacking his own and grinned. He hadn’t met a warrior with killing power this promising since…well, ever, really, except Az and Rhys. Brisa gasped at the contact and pulled back, withdrawing the shield so quickly she knocked herself on her ass. So apparently her balance wasn’t totally perfect. He approached and held his hand out to haul her up but she sprung up before he got there, dusting herself off, looking a bit sheepish.

“Is that what happened when you tried before?”

She laughed. “Cauldron, no. The few times we tried before I never even managed to form a shield. The power came so fast it exploded and I knocked over tents, trees, targets… Thankfully I never hurt anyone.”

“So, warrior, do you think this will work for you?”

Brisa barely reached his breastbone but her feral grin was the twin of his own as she replied, “Hell, yes, Commander. This will work.”

They spent an hour just working on control, until Brisa was mentally exhausted but could at least expand and contract the shield safely at will. Her Siphons still simmered, the power in them barely touched. He turned to Sabine, who had watched the proceedings intensely.

“Do you want to try?”

She shrugged, her nonchalance at the opportunity he was offering scraping at his nerves. 

“Sure, but I’m telling you, it won’t work.”

They tried every damn Siphon in the case. All three colors, all the different vibrational frequencies within each color. He only grabbed the largest ones, the reservoir in her was clearly enormous, but she was right. He didn’t need her to even attempt using them for it to be obvious none of these were going to work. One red one almost felt right but was just a hair off. Another blue one had the same response. Each had shimmered as she held them but they didn’t seem to balance the power properly. He imagined she’d take down the entire forest this time if he asked her to use them.

“We’re going to have to take you to a Siphon maker,” he said. “These are almost right. You may just need a custom set.” He wanted to smack that smug expression off her face as she just shrugged again.

“Whatever you think, Commander.” No, he was definitely not imagining the insolence in her voice. He controlled his instinctive snarl. No need to let her know what got under his skin. She picked up the red and blue Siphons and moved to put them back in the case when he saw it - the shimmering of each turning to a steady glow. 

“Wait.” He turned her hands over, opening her fingers so a Siphon rested on each palm. Yes, here it was: the red enhanced her power, the blue controlled it. “Ha. You do need two Siphons - just two different ones.”

Her brow furrowed as she looked at her palms. He could see that she felt it. Brisa, watching closely, could clearly see it too. “Is that…Does that happen?”

“It does now.”

“Has anyone ever worn two different types of Siphons before?”

He shrugged, taking a secret satisfaction in being able to mirror the gesture that had annoyed him so much. ‘Who knows? No one ever wore more than two before Az and I, and we wear seven each. It doesn’t matter if it’s happened before as long as it works now.” Sabine and Brisa looked at each other in shock, and he remembered that most people didn’t know exactly what he and Az wore. What power they truly wielded. He grinned wickedly. “So, Sabine…Wanna play?”

*********

Cassian eased himself down the stairs from the roof of his apartment. On reflection, he may have been a bit reckless having Sabine experiment with the paired Siphons without any backup. At least she hadn’t shattered them. Or flattened any trees. But she was utterly lacking in control. Her father may have done an outstanding job of teaching her how to fight and use weapons, but he did a shitty job of teaching her to control her emotions. What was supposed to be a shield turned into some sort of spinning wheel of destruction; if he’d been any less powerful, if he’d been just some ordinary trainer at an ordinary camp…He shuddered at the thought. Her panic had only made it worse. Thankfully Brisa had kept her head, and had been able to help him talk her through regaining enough control to temper the Siphons. She’d been mortified, but after two hours of work they’d made little progress. He needed Azriel next time, not just to back him up strength-wise but maybe he’d have some ideas. Plus he could be a buffer against her “our father” talk. That was getting ridiculous.

Nesta looked up from where she was laying on her back on the couch reading a book that was resting on her knees, Willow basking in a sunny spot on the bookshelf behind her. He had never thought he’d relish domestic bliss until this moment. All he wanted to do was soak in the tub and see if he could convince Nesta to rub him down with that herbal crap Amren made. It smelled horrible but nothing eased sore muscles quite like it. He headed over to give Nesta a kiss first, and she let her knee fall to the side. His eyes zeroed in on the flesh revealed as her skirt gaped open. Damn it. Damn her. Why did she have to stop wearing underwear? Just because he’d wrecked half a dozen pairs…With a huge effort he dragged his attention away from the glimpse of bare flesh surrounded by her neat triangle of hair, up to her eyes. She was studying him, face expressionless, waiting for his reaction. He could smell her arousal, could see the flush starting to spread across her neck and cheeks, and then she flicked her tongue over her lips - the gesture all the sexier for being utterly unconscious - and that was his undoing. 

Okay, fine. But this time they were going to do it his way. From the very beginning, he’d let her dictate their lovemaking. Even though he was usually on top due to the wings, she set the pace, the intensity, even dictated when he came half the time with her uncanny ability to find that damn spot on his wing. Despite her usual reserve, Nesta preferred it hard and fast, and often in unusual locations. That was generally fine with him, more than fine - the symphony had been a particular favorite - but today, after teaching control all morning, he wanted to practice a little himself. He crossed the room in two strides and knelt down on the floor next to her, giving her a leisurely kiss. She tugged at his shirt and without breaking the kiss he trapped her wrists in his hands, raising them to either side of her head. She opened for him and his tongue swept in. After several minutes he pulled away and stood, slowly unbuttoning the back panels of his shirt and pulling it off over his head. Her eyes roamed over his muscled abdomen and chest, and she reached again for him, but he stopped her before she could unbutton him. They rarely fully undressed, usually coupling too fast to bother, and he wanted to savor the sight of all of her, and to bask in her obvious enjoyment of his own body. He lay down on top of her, taking his weight on one elbow as the other lightly traced the contours of her face, her nose, her lips, the shell of her ear, then ran themselves through that luxurious hair that was so rarely loose. She gave a little twitch as he grazed her scalp with his calloused fingers, so he did it again, starting at the nape of her neck and running to the crown. His other hand found the hem of her shirt tugged gently, then he knelt back so she could sit up. She peeled it over her head, and lay back so he could continue his exploration of her body. His lips followed his fingers as he traced her collar bones, the little hollow between them, and down over her breasts, capturing one nipple with his mouth while his fingers teased the other. Her hands began roaming too, through his hair, down his neck and shoulders, reaching down his sides, then tracing up his chest. 

He pulled away and pushed his back against the couch so he could ease off her skirt. Once she was bare before him, he just lay pressed to her side and looked at her in awe. So much beauty, willing to be with him. Lucien was right, Nesta letting him into her bed at all was a damn miracle. Rolling back, he nestled his body between her legs and traced her curves with a calloused palm, following again with his mouth, kissing her abdomen, her navel, the sides of her hips. The desire to taste her, to part her legs and feast on her, almost overwhelmed him. He looked up and saw her watching him, and there was fear along with desire in those blue-gray eyes. Something about that prospect terrified her and eventually he would figure it out, but not today. He settled for running a finger up her, feeling her slick readiness as he kissed his way back up to her lips. She moaned, spreading her legs farther, bending her knees as she reached again to unbutton his pants. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands all the way over her head this time, letting her settle again before releasing her and kneeling. He unbuttoned his pants slowly, parting them to reveal a little at a time. She watched his little strip-tease, the flexing of his muscles with the movement as he stood and peeled the pants off his hips, letting them drop to the floor. She grabbed for him as he slowly lay back down, tracing her nails up his back, heading for his wings, but he was not going to let her ruin his fun that way. One scrape of that deadly nail across his wing and he’d lose all this control he was enjoying. For the third time he grabbed her wrists, circling them with his hands and raising them above her head, stretching her out for him. He kissed her again, and she shifted her legs wider as he settled one more time between those beautiful legs. His cock nudged against her entrance and he savored the feeling of her slickness coating him, almost as much as he savored her involuntary gasp. She was always so silent during their lovemaking, any noise she made was like a tiny victory in the battle against her self-control.

Slowly, as slowly as he could manage, he slid into her. She closed her eyes for a moment, biting her lip, and he smiled against her skin as he kissed her neck. He pulled almost all the way out, then eased back in, over and over, all while nibbling gently on her neck, her earlobe, until she was writhing beneath him, desperate for release. It amazed him how different this sensation was than their usual fast tempo. He could feel every muscle in both their bodies as her tension grew. Finally, she moaned, and he pushed in a little harder, a little farther, before easing back. “Cassian,” she whispered, and his name on her lips nearly made him climax. He pulled out abruptly, released her wrists, and flipped her onto her hands and knees, lifting her hips, parting her knees with his own, and then sheathed himself in her with the all the force he had been withholding. She let out a real groan then, and he pulled back before pushing in harder, still savoring the slow tempo, feeling the shaft of his cock pulling against the front of her. “Cassian, please,” she said louder, and that ended his self control completely. He drove into her, spreading his wings to hold his balance, and with the second hard stroke she cried out and pushed her ass into him, arching her back as she shuddered around him. He was close to release himself, so close, but he reached underneath her with one arm and pulled her up against his chest, kneeling back over his heels, deepening the penetration, and reached the other to roll her clit under his finger. One set of her contractions had barely ended before the next began, and she cried out again. His voice echoed hers as he finally reached his own release. They spasmed against each other, panting, his outstretched wings the only thing keeping them from collapsing face-first into the couch. He eased her back down, withdrawing gently, before he lifted her into his arms and sat, settling her into his lap. As he came down from the high, he could feel his muscles beginning to ache again, but there was no force on the earth that would move him while she was looking at him like that. 

“Cassian,” she said, her voice quiet, hoarse.

He traced that perfect mouth with his finger and then kissed her. “Yes, love?”

“How do you keep surprising me?”

He smiled, that soft crooked smile that belonged to her alone, hazel eyes shining with joy. “You keep surprising me too, love.” His fingers brushed her hair back off her sweaty forehead then came to rest curved around the back of her neck. She reached up and ran her thumb over his cheekbone and he leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

“Oh, and Cassian?”

“Hmmm?”

“I think we may have just traumatized the kitten for life.”

He chuckled and opened his eyes, looking to the bookcase. The gray ball of fluff hadn’t even opened an eye. “If you say so.”


	12. Family Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta and Mor work through some issues

Nesta was stretched out on the couch, flipping through a book, trying to snatch another hour of peace before the rest of the family arrived. Cassian had brought her here a day early, since he had to inspect a nearby training camp and wanted them have a night to enjoy the cabin before everyone else arrived for a few days of forced bonding. Enjoy it they had, which was probably a good thing since there were only two bedrooms and as far as she knew there would be eight people sharing. She debated whether she wanted to go outside and read on the porch, but settled for staring out the window at the lake, daydreaming about flying over it with Cassian, swooping through the air with the waterfowl that were currently dabbling at the water’s edge. Her reverie was broken by Mor banging through the door, clearly brimming with news. She pulled up abruptly when she realized Nesta was the only occupant. “Where is everyone?”

Nesta gave an insolent shrug, pretending to be engrossed in the story. “Not here.” 

“Thanks,” Mor said in a voice dripping with venom.

“Forgive me, Miss Morrigan. Cassian is at some camp doing an inspection and nobody else has arrived.”

Mor slumped in a chair facing Nesta, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “What the fuck is your problem?” Cool gray-blue eyes looked levelly into golden brown ones for a moment, then returned to the book. Mor sighed. “I love your sisters, you know.”

Nesta turned the page, focusing on maintaining her nonchalance as she replied, “Everyone loves my sisters.”

“Your sisters love me, too.”

Nesta stuck her finger in her book and closed it. She could feel her pulse increasing; the last thing she wanted to do was get into a fight, especially when the two of them were here alone. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want to know why you treat me with such disdain.”

“I treat everyone with disdain, it’s not just you.”

“You don’t treat Cassian with disdain,” Mor snarled.

“You don’t know what we do behind closed doors.” 

Mor huffed and tossed her hands in the air before standing abruptly. “I give up. I give up! I have tried and tried to be friends with you, for Feyre’s sake. But it’s hopeless. Utterly hopeless.”

Nesta put her book down and slowly sat up, tucking her feet underneath her. If she wanted to have it out, fine. “You’ve been trying to be friends with me? When? I must have blinked and missed it.”

“Oh, get over yourself,” Mor snapped. “Everyone dances around you like you’re some dangerous creature, some mighty queen whose favor we have to curry, but you’re nothing but a petty little bitch. And that’s fine, I don’t care what you think you deserve, but when you drag Cassian into your ridiculous drama-“ 

“Why would you give a shit about Cassian now?” Nesta interrupted hotly.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Nesta leaned in, pressing a hand against the coffee table between them, the movement predatory. “You got what you needed from him all those years ago, but what have you ever done for him? You let Rhys beat the shit out of him -“

“I was in no condition to stop that -“

“-and what have you done for him since? He’s been tormented by what went on for the past five hundred years. He thinks he failed you, even as he saved you. Have you ever spared a thought for what he risked?” Mor was shaking her head slowly, eyes blazing, hands clenched, but Nesta plowed on. “He risked the trust of his brothers, hell, he risked his life once your family found out, but what have you ever risked for him?” She gave a mirthless laugh. “No, you’ve just kept using him. First you used him to save yourself, now you use him as a buffer to prevent everyone from knowing what you really are, isn’t that right?” 

“And what would that be?” Mor’s voice was cold, vicious, the voice of the Queen of the Hewn City, but Nesta could hear a note of fear behind it and went in for the kill. 

“A liar who uses her friends as a mask. A coward who can’t admit who she is, even to people who will love her no matter what.” 

“What are you talking about?” Mor queried, the tone implying Nesta’s sanity was in question, but she couldn’t hide the slight tremor in her hands. Nesta sat back again, crossing her arms, raising her chin in that haughty way she knew drove Mor insane.

“Are you ever going to tell them that you prefer females, or are you going to continue to fuck Helion and whoever else crosses your path to keep up this ridiculous facade?”

Mor sank back into her chair, grasping the arms, eyes wide in shock. “Feyre,” she said tremulously, “Feyre told you?”

“Feyre? No.” Nesta made a disgusted noise. “Like Feyre would ever sell you out.”

“Then how?”

Nesta shrugged. “When we were at Rita’s for your birthday, some female came up and asked me if I’d introduce her to you, and I just…realized.” Mor’s hands covered her mouth and nose as Nesta went on. “I’d been trying to figure out why you kept pushing between Cassian and me, especially during the war. It almost worked, you know.” She shook her head. “I thought you still cared for him at first, that he cared too. But it was never about him, you just didn’t want to lose your cover.” She sat back and made to return to her book, pressing down on the guilt that pricked her at the devastation she could see on Mor’s face.

“Does he know?” Mor whispered, not denying the truth of Nesta’s words.

“Yes.”

“Why…why did you tell him?”

“I didn’t. Why would I bother? It’s not my concern, you can be with anyone you want. But I’m pretty sure he knows anyway. You’re a terrible liar.”

“And you are a bitch of the first order,” Mor snapped, recovering her composure.

“Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to be a bitch of the second order,” Nesta retorted.

Mor’s mouth quirked into an involuntary smile. “Don’t make me start liking you, Nesta,” she warned.

“Is that what I’m doing? Good to know, I’ll stop.”

“Gah! I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

“That sounds like a personal problem,” Nesta parried, trying but failing to swallow her chuckle. Mor stared at her in disbelief. 

“You…You have a sense of humor.”

“And you are spectacularly unobservant if you’re just figuring this out now.”

Mor burst out laughing, falling helplessly against the back of her chair while Nesta watched her, smile playing on her lips. Slowly, Mor regained control and met Nesta’s steady gaze. “Does Cassian get to see this side of you?”

“Of course. Why else would he put up with me?” A kernel of truth was embedded in the joke.

Mor shrugged her elegant shoulders. “I just figured it was the sex.”

“Well, naturally. But sometimes we need to take breaks to eat and I like to keep him entertained.”

“Speaking of which…” A box of pastries appeared on the low table between them. “Help yourself.”

Nesta leaned forward and selected one, a delicate flaky concoction with chocolate oozing from the center. Mor grabbed one and vanished the box, then settled back into her chair, taking a huge bite of her fruit-filled square of dough and studying her adversary while she chewed. Nesta nibbled daintily on a corner of her own, pretending not to notice Mor’s assessment even as she could feel heat spread up her neck. “Can I ask you something?” Mor’s tone had gentled so much that Nesta bristled internally, anticipating the knife wound of sympathy that would no doubt accompany that change.

“If you must.”

“Why haven’t you acknowledged the mating bond?” Mor asked softly.

Nesta kept her eyes down, fighting the burning in them, until she trusted her control enough to meet Mor’s gaze. “There is no mating bond.”

An incredulous snort. “What do you mean? We were all there, we saw you pull him from the Cauldron’s path. Hell, we can all smell it!”

Biting her lip hard enough to taste blood, Nesta shook her head. “I can’t feel it, can’t find it.” She had never admitted this to anyone except Cassian. “I know he thinks there’s something, he tries to pull on it, but there’s just…nothing on my end. Like he’s knocking on the door of an empty house.” 

“It took Feyre a year to recognize it,” Mor reminded her gently. “Sometimes it just takes time.”

“And sometimes we want something so badly we can fool ourselves into thinking it’s there.”

“Are you referring to Cassian or yourself?” Nesta shrugged again, looking away, unable to meet Mor’s eyes as she asked the inevitable next question. “Do you love him?” 

Nesta didn’t answer for so long Mor stood and walked into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water and standing at the sink, looking out the window. Nesta pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them, hugging her shins, trying to find that distance she relied on, that ice that had always protected her. But hadn’t she forced Mor’s hand? Wasn’t it only fair that she give her a truth of her own? Only Fae ears would have heard her as she breathed, “Yes. Yes, I love him.” She couldn’t keep the pain from her voice. Mor turned back to her, fresh tears in her eyes, then walked over and brushed a hand over her arm before sitting on the couch at her feet.

“That’s enough, you know,” Mor reassured her. “Love…love is enough.”

They sat in silence for a while before Mor suddenly remembered something from the beginning of their conversation. “What did you say to her?”

Nesta came out of her reverie and blinked at her, confused. “To who?”

“To that female at Rita’s, who asked you to introduce us. You obviously never did, so what did you say?”

A smile tugged at Nesta’s mouth, but her voice was flat as she replied, “I told her to go introduce herself.”

“Did you say it like that?”

“Pretty much.”

“Huh.” Mor’s face was contemplative. “I never considered ‘introduce’ as a substitute for ‘fuck’ until now.”

Nesta’s smile turned wicked. “Many words can have similar meanings, you know. It’s all in how you say them. Inflection is important.”

“So I see,” Mor grinned. “I can’t wait to try that one out on Cassian the next time he pisses me off.”

“Try it on Rhys instead. Or Lucien. It may not work on Cassian at this point, at least not how you intend.”

Mor rested her head against the back of the couch for a moment, staring without really seeing the mantel Feyre had painted. “Why did you get me that necklace?” she asked abruptly, turning to face her. Hurt flickered across Nesta’s features and Mor must have recognized it because she added, “Don’t get me wrong, I love it. It’s probably my favorite piece of jewelry, to be honest. It’s just…I hadn’t…earned it.”

“I guess I wanted you to know that I wasn’t…angry.” Why were words so hard? “About how things are between us. We’re not that different, you know. I think I wanted to let you know that I understood.”

“Understood what?”

“What it’s like to wear a mask all the time.”

“But I thought you didn’t figure it out until that night?”

Nesta propped her elbow on the back of the couch and rested her face on her hand. “I only figured out what you were hiding that night. But it’s pretty easy when you’ve always worn a mask to recognize it in someone else.” 

Mor rolled her head back and studied the ceiling. “What am I going to say to them?” she murmured. 

“You don’t have to actually say anything, you know.” Nesta’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “There doesn’t need to be some grand announcement. You could just stop lying, stop hiding.”

“I suppose. It’s just -“

Voices and footsteps sounded outside. They could hear Rhys and Feyre bickering about something, then Lucien’s barking laugh. A glance out the window showed the group of them - the whole family except Cassian and Amren - crossing the yard, Willow squirming in Elain’s arms. Both females smiled at the sight.

Mor tilted her head to look at Nesta. “I still hate you, you know.”

“And I still don’t care,” Nesta replied, opening her book once again as her hair slid down, blocking her expression as she pulled her mask back on.


	13. Night Swimming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian and Nesta bonding in the water

Cassian startled awake. Something was different. He could hear the steady breathing of the others around him, but when he reached out to Nesta he found only empty sheets, with the kitten curled up in the vacated warm spot. Propping himself up on an elbow, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shook himself more fully awake. Azriel was sprawled out on one of the extra beds Rhys had called in; Mor in the other. Nothing had disturbed their sleep. He looked to the bathing room, and the door was ajar; unlikely she’d be in there then. Disentangling himself from the sheets, he rose quietly, ignoring the tiny squeaked protest from Willow as his movement shifted the mattress. Rhys’ and Feyre’s door was closed, but he could hear their regular breaths; likewise Lucien and Elain. She was nowhere in the cabin. 

He padded outside, debating whether to wake his brothers now or look for himself first. Not on the porch or in the swing between the huge trees in the yard. He sniffed the air and caught a trace of her scent, still strong, and breathed a sigh of relief that she was still in the vicinity. Like a hound, he followed the scent around the cabin and down the hill, pausing as he spotted her sitting on the edge of the dock, feet dangling into the water. Keeping his steps undetectable, he picked his way down the hill, pausing at the edge of the dock. She sensed or scented his presence behind her and turned her head towards him, a silent invitation. Rolling up the legs of the loose cotton pants that were his concession to sleeping in a room with his family, he sat next to her, arms nearly touching, and eased his feet into the cool water. When a couple of minutes passed and Nesta still hadn’t said anything, he asked, “Can’t sleep?”

“I’m just thinking about something Mor said earlier,” she replied.

Fury immediately rolled through him while he tried to sort through what Mor might have done. He’d arrived after everyone else, thanks to that idiot of a warlord that hadn’t managed to get himself killed in the war, and had picked up on a subtle scent of anger and fear, but the two had seemed relatively at ease at dinner. Actually, Mor had been ecstatic, having returned from the Winter Court with the information that Kallias and Vivianne were expecting….oh, shit. He was taking a tonic, had been for years. Centuries, actually. An important precaution when you never knew when your next fuck was coming and didn’t want to force some poor child to be raised as an unknown bastard. And still important when you were mated to someone who didn’t acknowledge the bond. Did Nesta actually want to have a child? Or was it possible for the tonic to stop working? Might she be pregnant? Anger flipped to hope in a heartbeat, though rationally he knew he’d be able to scent it if she was carrying his child. “What was that?” he asked casually.

“We were…talking,” she said hesitantly, “about mating bonds. And I told her that I can’t feel it, that I…that I want to but I can’t.” Cassian stopped breathing; she had told him, many times, that she couldn’t feel it but he always thought she was just giving him a hard time, just denying it for some mysterious reason of her own. “And she said that this, what we have,” she gestured between them, “that this is enough. That…loving you is enough. So I was just thinking about that.” Her voice was soft, the hitch in her breathing the only clear indication of the emotion he could feel rolling off her. 

Heartbreak and joy warred within him. Heartbreak at his final acceptance that she truly could not feel the bond that was so real to him. Joy that she loved him, that she was willing to admit it. He leaned back, resting on his hands behind him and letting his head fall back so the light breeze ruffled through his hair. “I’ve known people who were mated without love. And people who loved fiercely but had no bond.” He tilted his head to look at her. “Given the choice, I’d pick love every time.”

She turned to him, a single tear tracing down her cheek silver in the moonlight. He sat up and drew his leg up to rest on the dock so he could fully face her. Reaching up, he brushed her cheeks with his thumbs and then kissed her, gently, lingeringly. She shifted to kneel across his lap and deepened the kiss, tongue playing over his as he wrapped his fingers in her hair. Her hands played over his chest, his shoulders, down his sides, up his back, scrupulously avoiding his wings but teasing him nonetheless. He felt himself hardening and she widened her legs slightly so he was pressed up against her, only the thin fabric of his pants separating them. Releasing her hair, he lightly ran his fingers up the outside of her thighs, over her ass, confirming that, as usual, she was not wearing underwear. His moan was stifled against her lips and she pulled away for a moment, just enough to lift her nightgown over her head. Cauldron, she was beautiful. The moonlight highlighted all her curves, her fair skin glowing with an ethereal bluish light. He ducked his head to her breast, taking her nipple in his mouth, sucking gently for a moment before switching to the other side. She cupped his jaw in her hands and raised his face to hers, kissing him deeply again before gently pushing on his chest, wordlessly asking him to lay back. He obeyed, leaning to rest on his elbows, but she pressed again, requesting more.

Cassian had had hundreds of lovers over the centuries; thousands, if he was being honest with himself, but he had never allowed this, never laid wholly on his back and allowed a female to ride him. Anytime a female had been on top he had been sitting up, because the idea of pinning his wings sent him into a primal panic, triggered an ancient instinctive fear that defied rational thought. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, taking several deep breaths before meeting her gaze again. Nesta’s expression was patient, understanding, as if she knew what she was asking. If he said no, she would never judge him. But if he said yes, if he opened himself up to this, trusted her, surrendered to her…That word clanged through him: he had already surrendered everything to her. Leaning forward to kiss her he placed a shield over his wings to protect them against the rough wood of the dock, then lay all the way back. Keeping the wings tucked underneath him proved impossibly uncomfortable, so he shifted, extending them out from under him to the first joint but keeping the rest folded close to his sides, finally settling back with one arm supporting his head. She bent over him, kissing his lips, his jaw, nibbling down his neck, kissing and licking his chest. He lost himself in the sensation of her lips, teeth, and tongue. Her hand slid under his waistband and he lifted his hips so she could slip off his pants, and they joined her nightgown on the side of the dock. As she bent down to kiss his stomach, her breasts grazed lightly on either side of his cock and he bit his lip to keep from flipping her to her hands and knees and taking her right then. He ran his free hand through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp as she worked her way back up his body. Her mouth met his as she straddled him again, pressing herself against him, and he moaned against her lips as he felt how drenched she was. Pulling back, she grabbed his cock at the base and steadied him as she eased herself over him. He could feel her stretching around him, almost like the first time they had made love, and her sharp intake of breath as she fully settled on him caused a flicker of worry. She ran a hand down his chest, reassuring him, and he felt her body open to accept him. Every tiny movement, every breath, every invisible muscle twitch at her core echoed through him, heightening his arousal.

After a few moments, she began to move. At first her movements were hesitant, a little awkward, but when he tried to help she pressed her hand to his chest again to stop him. She found a rhythm and he allowed the feel of her to wash over him. He had never been passive a day in his life, but laying back, allowing Nesta to have her way with him…the sensations were overwhelming. Her smell, the sound of her quickening breathing, the moonlight playing over her hair, her body as she moved, the feel of her wrapped around him, her thighs pressing against his hips; it was almost too much to bear. The motion was more subtle in this position but so much deeper than he had ever imagined. She bent forward a little, changing the angle of contact. Her hair fell over her shoulder, brushing over his chest, as her breathing changed and he felt a small spasm around his cock that nearly undid him. He could feel his pulse beating all the way to his fingertips and dug his nails into his palm to keep from coming. Her tempo increased and he reached up with his free hand, stroking her jaw, her throat, down her breasts, then lightly explored where they joined. On the first stoke of his finger over her clit she arched back, contracting hard against him, and with a barely controlled roar he put both hands on her hips, driving into her as he released, stroking them both through the throes. She collapsed forward onto his chest, trembling as he was, and he wrapped one arm around her while replacing the other behind his head. They lay entangled for a long while, allowing their breathing to slowly quiet. He found himself exploring the bond again, mentally walking that bridge to the enormous wall of ice and resting a hand on it. It seemed less imposing, somehow; no longer so cold it burned. “I am yours,” he murmured down the bond, “body and soul.”

She shifted, tucking her face into his shoulder, and breathed, “And I am yours.” He closed his eyes and tightened the arm that held her against his chest, holding back the tears that pricked at that admission. How did one live with this, he wondered. How did one not get consumed by this feeling? He wanted nothing more than to just be here, with her, at every moment, making her laugh, making her moan… Physical reality set in soon as his back and shoulders began to ache, not used to the pressure on his wings. Nesta shivered a little as the sweat on her body dried, and he kissed the top of her head. She raised herself to look at him, face still flushed. “Should we go in?” he asked. 

“Mmmm,” was her only reply as she lay back across his chest. He reached blindly to the side until his fingers touched fabric, and he pulled their clothes closer. With a small groan she rolled off of him and he sat up, freeing his wings and releasing the shield. A large part of him wanted to just pull his pants on and go back up to the cabin, still smelling of their lovemaking, but concern about somehow upsetting Feyre and Elain caused him to drop off the dock into the lake instead. The water was just up to his waist in this area, and he allowed the gentle ebb and flow to wash him clean as he turned back to face Nesta. She had never yet immersed herself in water since the Cauldron. When he had realized she was bathing by dumping buckets of water over herself, he had installed a raised tap in his bathtub so she could stand under it and allow it to drain freely. 

“Do you want to come in and clean up?” he asked cautiously. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated with fear. “You don’t have to. But there are no walls, nothing to hold you in.”

Her breathing was quick and shallow as her eyes darted from the water to him, then to the lake’s edge, and her throat bobbed several times before she spoke, her voice small, tentative. “Will you help me?” 

“Always.” He reached for her and waited for her to place herself in his arms, then gently set her on her feet in the cool water. She clung to him for a minute, digging her nails into his arms almost to the point of breaking skin. He kissed her hair, then rested his forehead against hers. “You’re free,” he said, “you’re safe.” She nodded, pulling slightly away, then took a deep breath and released him, looking around her, spreading her fingers to feel the eddies in the water. 

As her panic receded, she looked at him, a tiny hint of humor sparking in her eyes. “Are there creatures in here?”

He laughed in relief. “Just fish and frogs, I promise. I’ve been swimming in here since before the first war. I’m the most dangerous thing in here.” Nesta put her hands on those lovely hips that were being hugged by the water and glared at him. “Fair enough, you’re the most dangerous thing in here. I”m second.” He paused for a minute, studying her. “You seem…okay.”

She nodded as she moved slowly past him, a little deeper into the water, until it was lapping at the bottom of her ribcage. “You’re right, without the walls it’s not so bad. And this water feels different.” She paused a few feet away and stood with her back to him, closing her eyes and raising her face into the breeze that rippled her hair and blew her glorious scent directly to him. Despite the water her scent was still mixed with his and regardless of his fatigue a wave of desire hit him again and washed out all semblance of rational thought. No, not just desire, not that simple flickering flame, this was more. This was a wildfire.

“Will you marry me?” he blurted out, immediately cursing himself for his stupidity. He had been thinking about this for months, really since their first night together when he felt that bond snap and realized that he no longer belonged to himself but now was hers. Rhys had taken him to his jeweler to commission rings after Mor’s party, and he had been hoping to plan some grand gesture. And now he went and asked while she was standing naked in a lake in the middle of the night. Because he was an idiot.

Nesta didn’t turn around, didn’t open her eyes, didn’t really move at all. “Yes.”

Cassian didn’t really hear her. “We don’t have to rush into anything, we can wait. We can wait fifty years if you want to. I just -”

“Yes.”

He paused, not sure he wasn’t hallucinating this entire situation. Or dreaming it. “You don’t need to decide right now. You can think it over…“ his voice trailed off.

She turned then and pushed her way through the water until she stood in front of him and reached up to take his face in her hands. A smile played over her perfect mouth though he couldn’t read the expression in those blue-gray eyes. “I said yes, you overgrown bat. It’s not a good sign for our marriage if you can’t even listen to me accept your proposal.”

Well, if she was insulting him he probably wasn’t dreaming. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her half out of the water so they were at eye level. “Are you sure?” he murmured huskily. 

“How many times do I have to say it?”

He kissed her then, softly at first, then more deeply, pausing only to whisper her name. When both of them were starting to shiver with cold he launched into the air, did a lap around the lake to dry them, the only sounds the beating of his wings and the buzzing of insects. They landed on the deck next to their clothes. It seemed an age since he had come down and sat beside her, but the sky was still full dark. He passed her her nightgown and picked up his pants. “I have rings, you know. Not with me, but they’re waiting in Velaris.”

She paused just before pulling the nightgown over her head. “So this wasn’t as unplanned as it seemed?”

He laughed. “Well, the timing was exactly as unplanned as it seemed. I had meant to do something more, I don’t know, special. But I’ve wanted to marry you since the first night we spent together. Before that, actually, but that was the first time it seemed…possible.”

Nesta finished adjusting her clothes and studied him. He held out an arm and she took it and they began walking up the hill to the cabin. “When exactly did you decide you wanted to marry me?” she queried.

“When you kneed me in the balls.”

It was her turn to laugh. “So that had the exact opposite effect that I intended. I’ll need to practice more, I guess.”

He automatically shifted to protect his anatomy, and she laughed again. He kissed her temple before replying, “No, you’re quite effective at bringing a man to his knees, just in my case, that’s exactly where I wanted to be.” She leaned against him, and he could feel her sagging with exhaustion and scooped her into his arms. Entering the cabin as quietly as he could, he scanned to make sure everyone was safe and sleeping soundly. Willow had vacated the now-cold bed and was curled against Azriel’s bare back, half underneath his wings. Her little head popped up to check who was disrupting her, then her eyes closed and she settled back in. Nesta was essentially already asleep as he pulled the sheets over her, only cuddling in a little closer as he tucked her into his arms. But he couldn’t sleep. This night was too momentous, that this wondrous female in his arms was willing to marry him - a bastard and a warrior - was willing to join her life to his… “I am yours,” he whispered in her ear, and she smiled a little in her sleep. And deep within him, he felt a small caress on the far side of that ice wall.


	14. Family Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole Inner Circle at the cabin

The gray light of dawn breaking through the windows woke Cassian, just as it had for the past five hundred years. Nesta was still curled into his abdomen, and he wished he could spend all day lounging in bed with her, making love and making plans, but he could hear Mor’s deep breathing behind him and sighed. The rich smell of coffee was infiltrating the cabin; Az must already be up. With a soft kiss to Nesta’s hair, he slipped out of bed and into the kitchen. Willow was polishing off a saucer of goat’s milk and scampered over to rub against his legs as he poured himself a cup of the fresh brew. He scooped her up and set her on his shoulder before heading outside.

“Rough night?” Azriel greeted him as he emerged onto the porch, mug of coffee clutched in his hand. 

Cassian grinned. “Not at all.” Despite his interrupted sleep, it had been anything but a bad night. “You?”

“Well, getting awakened by a cat brushing against my wings isn’t high on my list of favorite things.” Cassian grimaced; he knew firsthand how startling that was when you weren’t used to it. “Finding my brother missing isn’t either.” Az’s tone was mild but his reproof was clear - and justifiable.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I woke up and Nesta was gone and I went looking for her. I didn’t realize anyone noticed.”

“You didn’t think to wake me up?”

“I almost did, but as soon as I got outside I could smell her. Otherwise I would have.”

Az crossed his arms. “She may be your mate, but she’s a member of my family too. Next time, tell me.” Cassian nodded in understanding and agreement. When had the sisters become the suns around which they all orbited? “She’s okay, though?”

“Yeah, she really is. Or getting there.” He paused, remembering details, a small smile playing on his lips. “She waded in the lake last night.”

“That’s a good sign.”

“I know.” He settled into the chair next to Az, stretching his long legs in front of him. They sat in companionable silence for a while, sipping their coffee, enjoying the growing sunlight and the morning carousing of the birds in the trees around them. Willow was stalking insects in the grass, then bounced off after a blowing leaf. “How’s it going with Sabine?” He had turned her training over to Azriel when it became obvious his brother’s calm demeanor was a better balance to her barely-controlled power than his own brashness. Brisa, on the other hand, was thriving with his playful approach. She was going to be a hell of an asset for them.

“She’s coming along. We’re barely using the Siphons yet, she’s too afraid of her own power. She’s confident as long as it’s just physical combat, but the second you even mention tapping into that power she can barely keep her emotions under control. Her father did her no favors keeping her so sequestered.” True. They talked for a while about the two females, until Feyre popped out and glared them into silence. 

“No work,” she scolded. “This is vacation.”

“Does that mean you won’t spar with me?” Cassian challenged.

“I didn’t say that,” she replied, a reluctant smile emerging. “Sparring is fun.”

“Tell that to your sister.”

She laughed. “You’re never going to win that battle.”

His cocky grin emerged. “Sure I will. I have a lot more practice being stubborn than she does.”

Azriel interjected, “We should start training Elain too. At least in self-defense.”

Feyre immediately launched into over-protective-sister mode. “What do you mean? She’s not at any risk here.”

“Not here, maybe,” Cassian mused, “but she is mated to a pretty powerful son of a High Lord. You’ve got a point, Az. Lucien could well be the Autumn Court heir.”

“He’s not,” Feyre declared definitively. 

Both males looked at her in some surprise. “I’d bet Lucien’s actually more powerful than Eris,” Az replied, but Feyre just shook her head. 

“He’s not the Autumn Court heir.” There was no arguing with that tone, even if they didn’t understand it.

“Can we at least ask her if she’s interested?”

“Fine, but if she says no you’re not pushing it.”

An hour later, they were all out on the flat part of the lawn. Cassian was working against Feyre and Mor with staffs. When he had first started training Brisa, she had put him on his ass with the staff, and he had promptly decided he wanted Feyre to be able to do the same thing. Mor had heard and joined in, though generally she rarely trained with him. He hadn’t really used the staff in centuries. All Illyrian warriors were taught how to fight with them as children, but they were considered a baby weapon and usually abandoned by the time Siphon training began. Brisa’s skill reminded him that they were actually very useful for a small person against a larger opponent, as well as for a winged fighter against a grounded one. Feyre alone had a long way to go before she’d be able to challenge him with it, especially since working with Brisa had refreshed all his old skill, but against she and Mor together he had to actually pay attention. Elain and Nesta were watching, Willow curled in Elain’s lap. She had actually stated a desire to learn to fight, and was studying their every move. She just wanted to wait until after her mating ceremony that was to take place in a couple weeks. Nesta, of course, had simply narrowed her eyes and said nothing. He had a feeling if Elain got so much as a bruise he’d have it taken out of his hide at home.

Mor called for a water break, and Cassian slid his attention over to his brothers, who had been working with Lucien. They were demonstrating a technique for him; Night Court swords were balanced a little differently than what he was used to, and required slightly different handling. He studied Rhys’ counterattack. He moved as well as he ever had, but…ever since the war, he had been different. Where Feyre had thrown herself into her training, wanting to be able to do more than sit on the sidelines should fighting break out again, Rhys was softer, somehow. Less aggressive, even in training. He had always had a conscience, contrary to what he allowed everyone to believe, had always regretted taking a life; but he had also been ruthless when necessary. While letting Azriel deal with the asshole who had assaulted that female no doubt had its own sort of poetic justice, Cassian believed misting him in front of the whole camp would’ve been a more effective deterrent. He wondered if it was simply fatigue of bloodshed, as Rhys had claimed, or if coming back from death had altered him, maybe even weakened his power. It had been over a year now, but that was just a blink out of their long lives. Trauma like what Rhys had suffered, between Amarantha and the war…sometimes people never totally came back. And maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, being altered by pain, if it made us more compassionate, he thought. After all, wasn’t it partly the first war that had shaped Rhys into what he was? As long as we extended some of the compassion towards ourselves. He felt Feyre approach and stand next to his shoulder.

“How’s he doing?” he asked her quietly.

Her shift into a defensive posture told him all he needed to know. “You see him all the time, why are you asking me?”

“Because he’s always going to say he’s okay. You know that, and I know that. He’s not, of course, and I want to know how deep that goes.” Rhys and Az stopped then and Rhys looked to them for a long moment before turning his attention back to Lucien. “I don’t care if he’s different. As long as he’s healing.”

She was silent. After a couple minutes they went back to their staffs and then she murmured, “I think he’s healing. He’s still my mate, still the same male underneath. But I think a part of him wanted to sacrifice himself in that battle, and I’m not sure that part’s not still there too.”

Cassian nodded. That, he understood; it was why he always fought with such abandon, why he allowed himself to become more weapon than person. A part of him regretted that he had to still live with the memories of what he’d done too. Not just in this war, but the first one. That he should have lived while so many did not; in the end, were he and Rhys any less monstrous than those they fought against? Their cause was the right one, he was certain of that in his bones, but they had killed without mercy. They had stood by while Tarquin drowned the defeated soldiers where they stood. No matter how justifiable, he had to live with that. They all did. At least when he woke in the night now, he had Nesta with him; her mere presence was enough to remind him why they did this. She was worth fighting for, a symbol of all the faceless, nameless humans who did not deserve to be enslaved, or slaughtered like chattel. He suspected Feyre served as the same anchor for Rhys. She came at him then, feinting a blow at his ribcage before swiping at his knees, and he grinned. His staff met hers and he flipped the end up, nearly disarming her. She regrouped and approached again, and they lost themselves in the crashing of the wood, in the violent dance that was a celebration of pain and survival.

*******

Hours later, he slumped in the shade, pleasantly exhausted. Between the interrupted night, sparring before breakfast, then rowing around the lake with Nesta the rest of the morning, he actually wanted to take a break and read this book he had snagged from her pile of favorites. It was rare his restless energy quieted enough to allow him to relax and read for pleasure. He tended to even read aggressively, finishing complex books on war or music theory at a rate that had always floored his brothers. Nesta walked by and settled nonchalantly back into her chair out in the sunny part of the lawn. As if the family hadn’t noticed her follow him into the cabin, and guessed what they were up to. The memory of her pressing a hand against his chest and guiding him into the bathing room in silent demand, the sensations of taking her against the door, their teeth buried into each other’s shoulders to stifle their moans, washed over him and he shook his head to clear it before flipping open the book. Soon he was immersed in the story of bizarre courtship rituals of wealthy humans, chuckling at their repartee. Though the goal of marrying the women off advantageously made him grit his teeth; it sounded a little too familiar.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Mor flopped into the chair next to him. “It’s too hot,” she said, fanning herself. “It’s almost autumn. It’s not supposed to be this hot up here.”

“You could always strip,” he said, gesturing to his own shirtless torso. 

She snorted. “You wish.”

Lucien and Az were sitting on the porch with Rhys, trying some fancy brown ale he had called in. Down by the shoreline, Feyre was sketching while Elain dangled her feet in the water. Nesta had risen and joined her sisters, looking at Feyre’s sketchpad. Cassian became aware of Mor watching him.

“It must be tough for Az,” she said, “being stuck around you mated males all the time.” His eyes flicked up to the porch and yes, Lucien and Rhys both had their eyes on the sisters. He chuckled.

“That could be, I guess. But not for you?”

She shrugged and leaned back in her chair. “I always knew I wasn’t destined to have a mate, so it doesn’t bother me. Actually, I’m sincerely happy for you all. But Az…He wants a mate of his own, I think.” 

Cassian mulled this over. Not so much the part about Az, though perhaps having a mate would push him out of his self-imposed punishment of continuing to lust after Mor, but about Mor herself. This was the closest she’d ever come to referring to what he had long suspected about where her heart truly lay. He wondered…first Nesta had admitted she loved him, now this…When he had asked Nesta what had happened the afternoon before during their row around the lake, she had been laughingly evasive. 

“What were you and Nesta fighting about?”

“Nothing really,” she said. “Did she tell you we were fighting?”

He huffed. “No, she told me you guys had a casual conversation in which you just happened to discuss mating bonds. I could smell that you had been fighting.”

Mor blew out a breath, then started to laugh. “Honestly, ‘casual conversation?’ That’s not even a little bit believable.” Cassian grinned; that was exactly what he had thought. “What can I say? She called me a liar, I called her a bitch, she taught me new ways to insult people. It was a fun afternoon.”

“But somehow you ended up telling her that it was okay she couldn’t feel the bond?” His voice had sharpened; he hadn’t realized he was angry about this until now.

All mirth left her face. “No,” she snarled, “I told her that if she loved you, that was enough. And it is. It is.”

“You don’t think it was a mistake to lie to her?”

She leaned forward, speaking quietly but viciously, “I didn’t lie to her, you hulking brute. She. Can’t. Feel. It. Just because you can, it doesn’t make your feelings more valid than hers.” Cassian sat back as if punched, hands limp in his lap. He wanted to say something in response, but didn’t know what; before he could think of something, she went on. “And you don’t need a mating bond for what you have to be important and precious. If you managed to earn her love without her feeling the pull of the bond, then you should be grateful every second.” 

She was right. Mor was completely and totally right, and he told her so. She settled back down, mollified, and took a sip of her drink. A glance up at the other males proved that they were all looking in their direction. Rhys looked concerned. Cassian dipped his chin in reassurance and they turned back to their ale, though their eyes continued to flick at him for a while. Down at the lake, Nesta had somehow procured a sketchbook of her own and was sorting through Feyre’s supplies, looking for some sort of drawing implement. She looked up at something Feyre said and smiled, that genuine smile that had once been so rare, while Elain laughed from her spot on the dock. He felt himself smile in response. “I don’t know how I did it,” he said, to himself rather than to Mor, but she replied anyway.

“Neither do I.”

*****

Dinner that night was a raucous affair. While Feyre had been trying to teach Nesta some techniques in drawing facial features, Mor had commandeered a pad and pencil and proceeded to draw ridiculous figures doing dirty deeds, which she then showed off at the table. Even Elain laughed blushingly at one particularly vulgar sketch, supposedly involving Beron and Tamlin’s beast form; Cassian wasn’t sure he could identify anything other than horns and male genitalia. Eventually attention turned to the upcoming mating ceremony’s guest list. Lucien had invited friends from all the Courts, and it appeared Elain had befriended half of Velaris and was inviting them all. Cassian wondered how she could know more people after living there for a year than he had after several hundred. He hoped Nesta wouldn’t mind that their wedding would likely be considerably smaller, though they hadn’t even begun to discuss it. He didn’t even really knew how she felt about it a day later, if she was still willing.

As if reading his mind, at the next pause in conversation Nesta glanced at him out of the side of her eye, smiled slyly, and announced, “Well, Cassian and I are getting married.” Six dropped jaws greeted them in response.

“What…when…married?!” Feyre sputtered. “But -“ She seemed about to protest the “married” vs. “mated” distinction but jumped as if someone had kicked her under the table. Cassian suspected Mor. “But that’s incredible! I’m so happy for you!” Her smile was genuine now that the initial shock was fading. He looked around the table; every one of them was beaming, even Mor. The table erupted in noise then, everyone talking over each other. The only intelligible question seemed to be “When?”

“In fifty years,” Nesta replied.

Cassian grinned at the three females who turned to face him, identical glares on their faces, and held up his hands to protest his innocence. “Hey, I just said I didn’t care if I had to wait fifty years, not that we should wait. I’d get married tomorrow if it was up to me.” Feyre, Elain, and Mor shifted their glares to Nesta, who just laughed. 

“It better not be fifty years,” threatened Feyre.

“Okay fine. Maybe forty,” she said, face serious for a moment before breaking into a broad smile. Cassian leaned over and kissed her temple. He didn’t care when they made it official; she had told the family. It was real. The rest of the meal was a general uproar of laughter, teasing, and wine. They moved out onto the lawn to enjoy the stars that were even more beautiful away from the lights of the city where Cassian found himself next to Rhys.

“I’m happy for you, brother,” Rhys said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Cassian reached up and covered that hand with his own. Hazel eyes looked steadily into violet. 

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely. He wanted to say so much more. That he knew what it was to lie awake consumed with grief and guilt. That their hope for redemption lay in the females down the hill before them; in the Illyrian war camps where circumstances of birth no longer dictated rights; in the humans who would never have to know what it was to lose their freedom; in the City of Starlight where art and joy still thrived. But the words caught in his throat. Rhys nodded, understanding anyway, as he always had. Cassian looked down the hill, where Nesta sat, looking back at him with those steady gray-blue eyes. Feyre was looking to Rhys with the same expression. They walked down the hill together, towards their futures, as bright as the stars above them.


	15. The Hellcat's Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta finally confronts her problems

Nesta wandered a little aimlessly through Velaris. She had already purchased the groceries she had set out for, sending the meat, vegetables, and fruit back to the apartment. Cassian and Azriel were training Brisa and Sabine again, and this time Feyre had gone with them to work with Brisa on fighting with the sticks. They were all to meet back for a late lunch meeting at the townhouse. Rhys had some news from their allies on the continent to share. She had been invited, as she was to all the meetings. She thought maybe she would actually show up for once, just to shock the hell out of everyone. And because she hated feeling so…adrift. 

She didn’t even remember when she had last been anchored. Since coming out of the Cauldron she had been at the mercy of the currents. No; if she was being honest with herself, it was long before that. Since her mother’s death, when her father’s heart broke and everything changed. That was when she had begun building her fortress of ice, that floated along the river of life. Being with Cassian was like being caught up against a fallen tree. The pull and sway of the water was reduced but the drag didn’t stop, and it was only a matter of time before she would be yanked away again. 

She turned up the street that led to the townhouse. She’d be there at least an hour early, but she could read until the meeting; Feyre had some books she’d been eyeing. Her legs protested the climb up the hill. Maybe she really should start training. Passing one of Elain’s small neighborhood gardens, she noticed an artist at an easel, painting the late flowers that were still holding on as autumn settled on the city. She slipped through the gate and the townhouse door opened for her; she was still keyed into its protection spells. It seemed deserted. She headed into the sitting room and sorted through the stacks of books on the low table in the center. Finding one that looked intriguing, she settled into a chair and flipped it open.

“You’re late.” Amren’s dry voice made her jump out of her seat and nearly drop the book. 

“What do you mean?” Nesta snapped, to cover her surprise and guilt. “The meeting doesn’t start for another hour.”

“And you were supposed to be here an hour ago so we could start working again.”

Nesta frowned. Amren had sent notes to her several times over the past couple of months since Mor’s birthday, requesting they restart lessons. She had put them all off with the excuse of preparing for Elain’s ceremony, not that she had actually done much of anything for that. Elain and Mor had thrown themselves into the planning whole-heartedly, she and Feyre had merely leant a hand here and there when needed. Now that Elain and Lucien were officially mated and off traveling, she had simply ignored the notes Amren sent altogether. Cassian had warned her that might not be the smartest approach, but hadn’t pushed her. “I had things to do.”

Amren sniffed. “Well, you’re here now, girl, so let’s get to work.”

“No.” Her reply was definite, her face impassive, though she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Amren merely crossed her arms and stared at her through narrowed, expectant eyes. Nesta huffed a little petulantly, “Besides I told you, I can’t access it. It’s gone.”

“And have you really tried?” Amren drawled skeptically, as if she already knew the answer.

“Of course,” Nesta retorted. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. She had reached into that well where the power had been and been met by ice. The fact that her retreat back had been laced with relief meant nothing. Death, Feyre had called her power. Who wouldn’t want that safely capped?

The tiny female cocked her head to the side. “Oh? I wasn’t aware that you had asked the High Lord to help you access your powers while I was gone.”

It was Nesta’s turn to cross her arms. She hadn’t asked him, of course. It had never occurred to her to ask Rhys, would never have occurred to her. He was basically a stranger to her, though she had lived in his house for a year. “What does he know of my powers?”

A dry laugh. “You’re asking what the High Lord of the Night Court knows about death powers? That just shows how naive you are.”

“His powers are different from mine,” Nesta said flatly.

Amren arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And that means that he is incapable of helping you? You think that his five hundred years of wielding magic the likes of which no one had ever seen would not have any relevance?” 

Nesta took her book and stalked to the stairs, a humming beginning in her ears, and growled, “I don’t even know why you care.”

Amren just laughed again, without mirth. A terrifying, judgmental sound that froze her in her tracks. “I never imagined you were a fool and a coward. I knew you were lazy, but the girl who wanted to kill Hybern and the queens…I didn’t think she would flee so easily.”

The words…they were knife wounds. No, not knife wounds, but hammer blows, deep within her, cracking her very essence, taking her breath away. Her hand shook as she reached for the bannister, but her gaze was steady as she turned to face Amren. “You know nothing about me. Nothing.” She began walking up the steps, the movement slow and oddly painful as her gut twisted in response to the words chasing her.

“I know you’re lazy because you let your younger sister provide for you when your mortal family was starving. I know you’re a fool because you refuse to seek guidance from those who know more. And I know you’re a coward because you are too afraid to own what you are.”

Nesta stopped on the stairs and turned to face her tormentor, a metallic taste in her mouth. “I never asked for this,” she hissed. “I never wanted any of this. And I owe nothing, to any of you.”

The tiny female at the bottom of the stairs almost seemed to grow. Her powers may have been altered by the Cauldron, but they were not diminished. “Are you telling me when you were sitting in the mortal world, trapped by mundane people and stuck in a mundane life, you didn’t ask for something more? That you didn’t beg the universe every miserable day for somewhere you fit in?” Nesta was shaking her head slowly, unable to take her eyes from Amren, a bird watching a snake. How…how did she know this? Her most secret prayers. “You owe your continued existence to Feyre. To Rhys. To Cassian.” A pause, then, “To Elain, who wanted this life far less than you but who trains every single day. And yes, to me. We saved your sorry carcass over and over, and you can’t even do us the courtesy of trying.” The humming in her ears had increased to a roar, until she couldn’t even hear if Amren was still talking, and she tore her focus away and dragged herself the rest of the way up the stairs.

She sat on the bed in the room Rhys had given her, hands pressed between her knees, unseeing eyes tearless and burning. The words echoed through her, each one a phantom blow. Coward. Lazy. Fool. Mundane. Fear. Who, what she had become. Feyre. Elain. Cassian. The people she was disappointing. Over and over they crashed into her, truths she could not deny. She turned into herself and her world was tilting beneath her feet, the thick ice she had always stood upon was crumbling and she was sliding down, sliding into that abyss that had always been looming beneath her soul. Her fingers were scrabbling against the sheer ice but couldn’t gain purchase. Memories slipped past her as she fell. Her mother, lying wan and pale on the bed, stroking her hair. Her father’s screams penetrating the closed door she and Elain hid behind as strange men shattered his leg. Feyre hiding behind the shed sobbing that first day she brought home a rabbit, thinking no one saw. Tomas grabbing at her, eyes hard, wanting to take what she would not give freely. Elain shrinking in terror as the Hybern soldiers grabbed them, Rhys’s guard all dead outside the manor. Her father’s eyes on her, shining with love as the King snapped his neck. Cassian sprawled before her, bones broken, unable to rise, strong arms holding her as they faced death together. The useless blow she had struck at the King with her untrained powers. Rhys dead upon the ground as her sister wailed. All the times she had failed those she loved, failed herself. Their names slipped past her and were lost to the abyss. She couldn’t tell what was happening in the room around her and what was in her soul, could hear a high keening wail but didn’t know if she was screaming out loud or if it was a silent scream within her. Seconds stretched into infinity as no one came. There was no hand to grab her, to save her, as she fell and fell and fell.

*****

She was still plummeting when a small part of her dimly became aware of a knock on her door, a minute or an hour or a day later. “Sweetheart?” There was concern in that familiar, beloved voice as it penetrated the whistling wind of her fall. “Amren said you were up here, do you want to come down for lunch? Your sisters are here.”

Words couldn’t form, she didn’t know how to find them, didn’t know if the voice she heard was real or imagined. The knob turned but the door didn’t budge. She didn’t remember locking it. The door rattled a couple of times then red light flared and it blew open. She could see his hazel eyes blazing with fear far above her as he rushed into the room, and she clawed harder at the ice within her, trying to to slow down, to stop the fall, to stay with him. There was a deafening crack he didn’t seem to hear as the glacier she had always lived within began to calve, one side falling away. His arms reached for her body where it rested on the bed, gathered her into his lap but she couldn’t feel him, could only feel herself straining, nails shredding as she tried to hold her fortress together. Then they were there. One set of gray-blue eyes that grabbed her, cocooned her in a blanket of every element, trying to help slow the fall. Another set of brown eyes, lovely and loving, that should have been far away. “The glacier,” those brown eyes said, “it’s breaking. She will be free.”

“The prophecy,” another awed male voice, filled with flames, said in the distance.

The beloved voice above her cracked as it asked, “What is happening to her?”

A different voice, deep and cultured and frustrated, one that belonged to violet eyes, replied, “I don’t know. It’s not her mind, I can feel that and it’s intact. It’s something deeper.” 

Silver eyes spoke then, the dry voice that had shattered her with words like stones, “It is her soul. She has always shielded her soul behind ice. Now the ice is melting.”

The rough voice behind her asked brokenly, “Can we save her?”

“No,” Silver eyes said, “but she can save herself.”

The blue eyes that still held her, still slowed her descent, asked, “How?”

Silver eyes looked at her, into her, the only ones that truly saw her as she fought, and replied, “She must embrace herself. Claim what she took from the Cauldron, and not try to hold onto an illusion.”

The Cauldron. It had not given to her freely, but it had given. She had not wanted to live trapped in a world of rules and decorum, and it had provided her with a body and a power where she would not have to. Given her a partner and a family who would embrace her in her entirety. How had she not seen this? Letting go of the crumbling ice, she dove, a controlled, head-first descent, trusting despite the pressure around her growing as she felt the bottom approach. A pool of silvery water, its depths untold, waited for her. She plunged in and it welcomed her. Not water, but smoother, warmer. The eddies of it swirled around her, through her, soothing and strengthening her. It spoke to her with each wave, lapping words that yet made no sound. “Do not fear. Do not fear death. Do not fear life. Do not fear love. Do not fear pain. All is as it will be. Each step in life and in death is a lesson, every moment of pain equalled by another of love, if only you can recognize it. You control all. You control your life, and your death, and your love, and your pain. Return to your body, and do not fear.” She somersaulted in the liquid and kicked for the surface, something surging up with her. As she breached, she felt herself slam back into her body.

*****

It was overwhelming. She lay in her body in the dark, feeling, listening. A warm body held her, the heat nearly burning her skin, and she could hear the life force flowing through it, strong and crackling like fire. There were six other life forces in the room, each one with a different tenor, a different flavor. She could reach out easily and control each one if she chose. As she listened, she realized that while each one was distinct, they were all interconnected. Pluck one and the others would be impacted along the fine webs that traced between them. Some threads were thicker than others, but the weaving was complex and infinite. She traced it out beyond them. Two more life forces were hovering farther behind, down the hall. More threads spread from each of them through the walls and onto the street beyond. There were dozens of life forces out there. Hundreds. Thousands, as she spread this new awareness through the city. All of them tracing back to each other. Not a single life force could be extinguished without it being felt in ripples through the world.

She opened her eyes and light flooded in, pain flaring in her head. The eyes were looking at her, six pairs before her, but they had faces and bodies now. She took a breath, her lungs aching, and felt power surge from deep within her, a surge that shook the house. Fear warred with love in those faces, and a red shield expanded from behind her, filling the space between her and the others. Trapping her here with this other body that held her. She gritted her teeth as that power sealed hers in, and clenched her fist. The shield sputtered, and she could feel that fiery life force in the body behind her sputter as well. It would be so easy to snuff it out and free herself.…Then she felt the tug of a thread connecting her to that force that was weakening behind her. No, not a thread, a rope. A rope that was starting to fray. Pain stabbed at her as tiny threads making up the connection stretched and began to tear.

“Nesta,” that body breathed behind her, voice weak. That was her name, she realized. With her name, the memories came flooding back. Playing the piano with Elain in the drawing room as children, Feyre crawling on the floor. Her mother’s last breath, and the pompous funeral that followed, more a display of wealth than a celebration of a life. Moving into the cottage, her father broken and despondent and useless, enduring the stares of the other villagers and the raised noses of the wealthier nobles. Feyre, filthy and exhausted but unyielding, staring her down, ordering her to chop wood. Pushing through the underbrush in the forest, looking for the entrance into the Fae lands, searching for her sister. Elain coaxing flowers from the bare ground. Feyre teaching her how to paint, in that brief interlude after she returned from the Spring Court. Watching Elain dancing with Graysen, face alight with joy, while sitting in shadow herself. Emerging from the Cauldron, hearing the screams and smelling the blood, feeling the power swelling and tamping it down hard, stumbling to her sister. Watching the cautious way the others moved around her as she sat frozen in the House of Wind. Cassian, visiting every day, teasing her, pushing at her barriers. Amren trying to help her connect to the power she was so desperate to choke out. Feyre, dressed in leathers and steel, heading into battle at the Summer Court without a second thought. Cassian, fighting like he was conducting a symphony, the battle a song in his blood. Azriel and Feyre, winnowing away to rescue Elain from Hybern while she sat uselessly behind. The power of the Cauldron erupting, a thousand lives snuffed out in a moment, all those threads severed. Her father, appearing at the head of an armada, her name and her sisters’ emblazoned on those ships. The firebird, wreaking havoc among Hybern’s fleet. Cassian, standing with her, ready to lay down his life for her. Her own impotent attempt to take out the King with her power stifled by her fear. Elain, appearing from the shadows, the knife in her hand penetrating the King’s throat. The feel of that knife hilt in her own hand as she grasped it to sever his head. Amren and then Rhys giving up their lives to save them all; what ripples that would have had through the world had the Cauldron not seen fit to bring them back. Then sitting back again, waiting, waiting, for Cassian to approach. Finally approaching him herself, framing it as a game. The feel of him against her, inside her, breaths mingling, pulses pounding against each other. That moment in the lake, when he asked her to marry him and her whole world stopped. Cassian. Her love. Her mate. That was who lay on the other side of that rope, whose arms were loosening around her now, who was shielding the others while she choked out his life. She released her hand and he gasped as life flooded back through him. It had only been seconds, she realized. Seconds since she had claimed her body back, claimed her power. What meaning did time have if a life could begin and end in such a brief moment?

Nesta reached down the bond she could now so easily feel between them, repairing the torn threads, strengthening the connection. She reached him on the far side of it, his relief and hope and love washing over her. Such power he had, so different from her own. And such grief and loss she could feel too, behind it all, centuries of it driving him. She understood, then, what the liquid had been telling her. Grief and pain and loss could destroy, as it had her father. It could paralyze, as it had her. Or it could forge and strengthen, as it had Cassian, and Rhys, and Feyre, and Amren, and Elain - as long as one allowed it to be tempered by love.   
She threw her love down the bond, and Cassian’s rose to meet it. His warmth filled her soul as his arms tightened again around her, as his lips pressed against her neck, as he murmured her name against her skin. The shield around them dropped and her attention was drawn to the others. Elain, eyes shining. Feyre and Amren. Rhys, Lucien, and Azriel, all with wary expressions, ready to pull the females away should her power surge again. She did not shrink away from their stares. Tears were streaming down Feyre’s face and Nesta didn’t know why, but Feyre rushed to her, grasped her hand, and fell to her knees. “You’re okay,” Feyre said, voice shaking, “you’re whole, you’re…free.” Elain joined them, taking her other hand and pressing soft lips to her cheek.

Nesta squeezed her sisters’ hands, a joy she had never felt before swelling through her, so intense it felt like pain. “I’m free,” she replied, stunned. Free. She had never realized that her sanctuary had become such a prison. Right now, she didn’t even know what to feel, her emotions were swirling so fast. Was this how other people felt, everything so strong and fast-changing? Amren stepped forward and her emotions coalesced into…gratitude. She couldn’t find the words, but Amren seemed to understand, holding her eyes and nodding. 

“Tomorrow,” Amren said, “you begin training. Before you kill someone by mistake.” There was no arguing with that tone, and Nesta didn’t even want to. She knew how close it had been when she had held Cassian’s life in her hand. If it had been someone else, anyone but her mate, who had trapped her with that shield she didn’t think she would have stopped. And now that she could feel how every life tied in, there was nothing she wouldn’t do to avoid destroying those tangled webs in error. 

A wave of guilt and terror swept through her at what she had almost done, and was met and overcome by understanding and love from his end of the bond. She looked down at his broad hands, spread across her ribs, strong and flecked with scars, red Siphons gleaming. Perfect. It struck her that she hadn’t actually looked at him, at his face, in the minutes since she had returned. It seemed almost superfluous with how strong their connection was now, but she turned in his lap to face him anyway. Feyre and Elain released her and stepped back to their own mates. Her swirling eyes met his steady hazel ones, soft and warm and knowing. Tears were beaded in his lashes and she reached up and gently touched them, feeling the moisture wick onto her finger tips. He closed his eyes at her touch and pressed his forehead against hers. “Cassian,” she said softly, as his hands ran up her back to grip her shoulders and he began to shake. There was rustling behind them but she didn’t turn to watch as the others left, just heard the door quietly click shut. “Cassian, I’m -” she began.

He shook his head, stopping her, and pulled her tighter to him, his face buried in her shoulder, body wracked with the force of his sobs. “I thought you were gone,” he whispered. “Your body was here but you weren’t breathing, I could feel your pulse but you were gone. You were gone.” He drew a shaky breath. “Then Rhys and Feyre and Elain were here, and they could feel you, but I didn’t know….didn’t know if you’d want to come back.”

“I wouldn’t leave you,” she said, her own voice breaking, “you should know that by now. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. You’re utterly helpless by yourself.” He snorted, then laughed outright, pulling away enough to see her face before kissing her. Their tears mixed on her lips and there was something so intimate about the taste of the salt, the taste of him. She had wanted him since they met, had lost track of the times they had made love, but the desire that hit her now made any prior feeling seem pale. His own longing swept through the bond and before she knew what she was doing her fingers were fumbling with the buttons of his shirt’s wing panels. He pulled back to tug his shirt over his head as she removed her own. His lips traced down her neck and over her collar bone, then back up to her ear. She moved to lie down, pulling him on top of her and wrapping her legs around his hips. His wings flared out then settled against his back, and she resisted the urge to tease him by running her fingers over the smooth membrane, settling for gently kneading the powerful muscles of his back. His responding groan made her ache in her core. 

She slipped her fingers under his waistband, sliding them around to the front, feeling him hardening beneath her palm before flicking open the top button. He grasped her wrists and pulled her hands away. Smiling at her hiss of frustration, he began kissing and licking his way from her jaw down her neck and chest, gently taking her nipple in his mouth and flicking it with his tongue. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the feel of his hands smoothing over her abdomen, his mouth shifting to her other breast. One of his fingers hooked in her pants, lightly brushing at the top of her hair. She squirmed a little, trying to get his fingers into her, and he chuckled at her impatience but obliged her by easing her pants over her hips, then pulling them roughly off and kneeling between her legs. His fingers tickled their way up the inside of her calves, her knees, her thighs, before gently drawing up her entrance, earning a shudder. He kissed her navel and worked his way back up to her mouth. This time when she moved to unbutton his pants he helped her, shucking them while barely taking his lips off of her. She lightly ran her hands over his backside and around to his cock, firmly wrapping her hand around his shaft. He lifted himself up, resting on his elbows for a moment and biting his lip as she pulled gently once, twice, before releasing him. His eyes met hers and he grinned wickedly then lunged up to press her back down with a kiss. 

Nesta watched him as he moved down her body, his silky black hair falling over his cheek and lightly brushing her skin. His fingers played over the sensitive flesh between her legs and he growled at her wetness as he eased a finger into her. She closed her eyes and turned herself over to him, to the feel of his finger moving in her, pressing against the wall of her core, then gasped and tensed as his tongue replaced his finger. He had never yet tasted her; she had never let him. But his moan at her flavor, the feel of that clever tongue sweeping up her, then playing around her clit, teasing… she had never imagined the fire that would sweep through her. He slipped his finger back into her, then a second, filling her while he continued to lick and gently suck that little bundle of nerves. Her blood was pounding through every inch of her and she opened her thighs even wider, tilting her hips to push herself against him. She finally found her release, the world pausing a second before she shuddered around his fingers, her whole body going limp as his tongue continued to stroke her, until she found enough muscular control to grip his face in her hands. Pulling him up until he was resting on her chest, she panted, barely remaining conscious, and his body shook with laughter as he pressed his lips to her shoulder. 

“What?” she gasped.

“After all your resistance,” he said, “you certainly seemed to enjoy that.”

She couldn’t help it, she laughed too before drawing his face to hers and kissing him. Though she had thought she was fully sated, his tongue in her mouth, tasting of her, the feel of his back muscles rolling under her hands, his cock hard against her thigh, made her ready for him again. Shifting underneath him, she gripped his hips and pulled him so he was nudging against her. Her ankles hooked behind his thighs and she guided him into her. He exhaled as he seated himself in her, his breath hot on her neck, then slowly withdrew before driving back into her. Each stroke reverberated through the bond, the connection between them deepening, strengthening, his heightening pleasure echoing in her very bones. “Nesta,” he whispered, his lips tickling against her ear. “Nesta.” Her name was a prayer on his lips, his voice shaking just a little with restraint. The magic was roiling in her veins, a joyous thing leaping like a dolphin’s, not looking to claim life, but to celebrate it. She was so close, he was keeping her teetering on the very edge again, the sensation becoming so intense as to be almost painful. Finally, desperate for release, she traced one nail along the muscle of the wing, then onto the membrane, and with a guttural cry he spasmed, driving harder into her, until her cry mirrored his.

They lay intertwined for a long moment before she spoke. “I know now, why you were so insistent on the mating bond.”

His fingers lightly scratched her scalp as he kissed her forehead. ‘I should have respected that you couldn’t access it. I should have tried to help you figure out why. I just didn’t understand.”

“I was afraid.”

His chin sunk onto his chest so he could look at her more fully. “Of the bond?”

“Of everything. Of the bond, of being, I don’t know, being left, being hurt. Of my power.” She laughed a little. “Of your power.”

“But you’re not afraid anymore?”

She shook her head. “No. After what happened today, I think I understand it now.”

There was a long pause before he asked in a voice barely more than a whisper, “Where did you go?”

“Back to the Cauldron, I think.” He blanched, but she went on. “Not the physical Cauldron, but back to where I was after I drowned. It wasn’t ever evil, you know. Just, how the King was using it was. And today it explained things. It guided me. And my power…I don’t think it’s death. I think it’s life.”

He ran a broad hand down her back. “They’re one and the same, love,” he replied. She pulled back to look at him, not sure if she should be offended, but his face was thoughtful, serious. “I’ve lived too long on the border between them,” he clarified, “to not recognize that they are different steps on the same spectrum. The same power can save and destroy. It’s not in the power itself, it’s in the wielder.”

Like the Cauldron itself. She sprawled back onto him, savoring the feel of skin on skin, the smell of his sweat mingled with their lovemaking, the pleasant ache between her legs. All the sensations so much stronger than ever before. There was so much she had to do, so much she wanted to do. She didn’t even know how to live her life without the walls. ‘Do not fear,’ her power whispered to her. She would fear, she was willing to accept that; there was no honest life lived without it; but she no longer feared love. And the love of this warrior, of her sisters, of her new family, could balance out any pain she would face.


	16. Magic Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta starts learning her magic, then gets rip-roaring drunk

Nesta scanned the library shelves. She had about half an hour before she needed to meet with Amren, and wanted to see if there were any books on life magic. Months earlier, she had read what limited information there was on death magic, but none of it had felt like what she had called up that day against the King. Hopefully, she had just been searching for the wrong thing, but she’d spent an hour already with no luck at all. There were stacks of books on Illyrian killing power, and many more on the more generic magics like managing pocket realms and winnowing. None of which she had tried yet. Damn. The silent librarian who escorted her turned into a different set of shelves, pulled two volumes down, and handed them to her. She carried them to one of the desks that lined the circular walls and flipped one open. It was a dissertation on magical theory, reviewing the concept of magic as manipulation of molecules. She didn’t even know what that meant, but it sounded like it might be informative. The second book opened to a gruesome picture of a fae being misted. She’d seen enough of that in person during the war, and it had never called to her power. Closing that one, she lifted the first and turned to the librarian. “Can I borrow this?” The female shook her head, and pointed to the desk, then to Nesta. Okay, then, she could leave it here and come to read it. She set it back down, nodded her thanks and left, realizing as she climbed that she could have verbally thanked the librarian; Clotho was mute, not deaf. Oh well. 

Amren had suggested they meet on the roof; it was vacant when Nesta emerged from the House of Wind so she settled into one of the chairs. Cassian had taken Feyre with him to train with Brisa again, so they wouldn’t be working out up there. Her stomach ached from his absence. Or from the memories of the day before. She still felt a twinge of pain at how close she came to plucking his life before she remembered him after returning to her body. Though he hadn’t been nearly as disturbed by the fact she’d nearly killed him as by the idea that she might have stayed in the abyss. Their bond vibrated, and she realized she was sending her thoughts down it unawares. She opened her pathetic, untrained barrier to him and he sent back an image of their return to the apartment the night before. Her lips curled into a smile as she recalled flying back from the townhouse chasing the setting sun, all the colors more vibrant than she had ever noticed before, his arms warm and hard around her, the wind tickling her skin, setting her into a state of arousal yet again. Cassian must have felt it too, because as soon as he landed he lay her down on the chaise in the rooftop garden and they didn’t bother to fully undress before they were tangled with each other again, his wings flared to hide them from any eyes flying overhead. Then he had carried her down the stairs, ignoring her laughing protests, mouth claiming hers as he gently set her on her feet. It felt strange, to return to their apartment after so much had changed and realize they had been gone less than twelve hours. She had been a little worried that Willow would reject or fear her, but the half-grown cat had greeted her as enthusiastically as ever, whole body vibrating with the force of her purr. Then this morning, they had lingered in bed far past his usual sunrise awakening.

The sound of a throat clearing interrupted her reverie, and she looked up to see Amren glaring at her. “Are you ready to work, or am I going to have to deal with newly-mated nonsense all day?”

Nesta bristled a little at the tone, but replied, “Yes” as flatly as she could manage.

The tiny female’s eyes narrowed. “Yes to which one?”

“You pick,” Nesta replied, but got to her feet. “What’s the plan?” 

Amren led her over to the door, where she had set a box of plants. “We need to figure out what your magic affects, and you need to practice control.”

Nesta looked down at the box, wondering if Elain would be mad at her if she destroyed a bunch of plants. Or if she was right, and it was life magic she possessed, could she turn the roof into a jungle if she pushed her power the other way? “I found a book,” she said, noticing the crossing of Amren’s arms at the delay, “that talks about magic as manipulating molecules? I don’t really understand what that means, but it sounded brilliant…” She broke off as she realized Amren actually looked a little embarrassed. Her expression changed to bored contempt as soon as she noticed Nesta’s attention. Hmm. Perhaps the ancient female had more talents than she knew, if she was writing books. Though after thousands of years of existence, she supposed writing was just another thing to do.

Amren waved a hand dismissively. “That’s all well and good to read on your own time. Maybe it’ll help, if you can actually understand it. For now, grab a plant and sit down.” Selecting the ugliest plant of the group, Nesta sat at the little painted iron table. “Close your eyes.” She obeyed. “Now, remember what you felt yesterday when you returned and everything was fresh. Breathe in, and let the power flow through you. Then breathe out, and reach out with it. Don’t do anything with it, just feel.” 

But Nesta didn’t have to reach out. As soon as she thought of the power, she could feel Amren’s life force flowing, so close to her. The people in the House of Wind behind her as well, servants and librarians and the couple of scholars who had been admitted. She directed her focus to the plant in front of her, but it may as well have been made of the same iron as the table; she couldn’t feel it. Minutes passed, and finally she felt a tiny flicker from the plant. It felt clean, content. Simple. And it was…moving. She opened her eyes and focused on the spot of movement. A small bug was crawling along a leaf. “I can’t feel the plant,” she said, “but I can feel the bug.”

“Can you manipulate its life force?”

Nesta shook her head. “I don’t want to kill it.”

“What?” Amren’s tone was incredulous. “You don’t want to kill the bug?”

“It’s cute. And it’s not going to hurt anyone.”

There was a long enough pause that Nesta looked up. Amren was shaking her head. “The girl who beheaded the King of Hybern doesn’t want to hurt a bug because it’s cute.”

She gestured at it. “Look, it’s got all those little spots on its shell. And the little antennae, they’re…waving. It doesn’t mean any harm.” 

Amren’s expression shifted from incredulous to intensely focused. “Can you sense its intent?”

Nesta shrugged. “I don’t know, it just sounds…feels…benign.”

“Have you been able to sense people’s intentions before?”

“I’ve never really tried. I mean, I can feel Cassian’s but, you know, the bond. And he’s remarkably easy to read even without it.”

“Try with me.”

Pursing her lips, Nesta shifted the focus of her power to Amren and just sat for a moment, listening to the complex force flowing under that fair skin. “You’re…sharp, for lack of a better word,” she said, finally. “That’s not an intention, but I don’t know how else to describe it.” 

“Do you remember how the King felt?” Amren asked softly, leaning in, silver eyes fixed on the swirling gray-blue.

“No,” Nesta replied automatically, then paused to remember. She called up the feel of the King when he sat on that throne of bones, conducting the mindless members of his court, thriving on the dismay of his prisoners, on the pain. Then, when he was readying that Cauldron blast, she had been able to feel his gleeful anticipation at the destruction it would wreak, like a staccato beat. She had thought it was the Cauldron she had felt, but the Cauldron did not have an opinion about anything outside of itself. Finally, as he had appeared holding her father prisoner, the off-notes that had sounded - she had known he would kill him, regardless of what she did. When she spoke again her voice was trance-like. “Yes. He was dissonant, he wanted to disrupt all the threads. After he died, the chords got more…harmonious. But then the Cauldron was broken, and you and Rhys…” She couldn’t find words for the cacophony that had erupted, hadn’t been able to differentiate between emotion and power at all at that time.

“And the queens?” The words were barely more than a whisper.

Nesta didn’t move or speak for a full minute before shaking her head. “No, I can’t remember. They felt wrong, but I don’t know that wasn’t just because they were so obviously uninterested in helping us.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Nesta watching the bug delicately nibbling a leaf, still listening to its tiny life force humming. There was something soothing about it. 

“Well, we know you can’t feel plants and won’t kill bugs,” Amren finally said drily. “Is there a creature you’re willing to practice on? Other than Cassian, of course.”

Nesta shivered at the reminder of her near-disaster the day before. “I don’t know, maybe Elain can point out some pests or something.”

Amren’s mouth twisted. “She and her mate went back to the Dawn Court once it was clear you were okay, so we’ll have to wait a bit if you’re going to insist on that.” Nesta had forgotten Elain and Lucien were on their honeymoon. She wondered briefly why they had come back, how they had known, but Elain must have seen it and asked to return. Sweet Elain. She hadn’t thanked her, or Feyre for that matter. Her history was filled with unspoken gratitude.

They worked for another hour on pinpointing and describing individual life forces. She could easily reach about halfway across the city, but selecting an individual to follow among the crowds was challenging. And exhausting. By the time Mor came to bring them to dinner, Nesta was starving and had a headache brewing between her eyes.   
The three walked towards the dining room. Mor glanced at her out of the side of her eye. “Looks like I miss all the fun,” she said casually.

Nesta snorted. “Well, I would’ve issued you a formal invitation to witness my trauma, but I just don’t like you.”

Mor grinned, golden brown eyes glimmering with humor. “Given that you apparently came out of wherever the hell you were in a killing rage, I think I’m grateful.”

“Now, now, I wouldn’t go into a killing rage without you to inspire me. I was just a little confused.”

“Remind me to always be crystal clear with you, then.” They slid into their seats at the table, the first to arrive. Mor poured them each a glass of wine. “I’ll tell you what, though,” she said, more seriously, “I felt you from here. When you surged. As soon as I regained my breath I winnowed to the townhouse, but I was told to let you and Cassian be and Feyre promptly dragged me right back here. You’ve got some wicked power there, I’ve never felt anything quite like it.”

“I still think you should talk to Rhysand,” Amren interjected. “He may be able to help.”

The High Lord appeared then, Azriel a step behind him. “What can I help with?”

“Managing your sister-in-law’s terrifying power,” Mor chirped, her bright tone at distinct odds with the words.

Rhys inclined his head towards Nesta as he took his seat. “I’d be happy to.” He snapped his fingers and food appeared on the table. “Feyre and Cassian should be here shortly. She said to get started without them.”

Mor frowned. “Everything okay?”

Rhys chuckled and even Azriel gave a dry smile. “Yes, just something has evidently gotten under Cassian’s skin and he needs to blow off some steam before appearing in polite company, apparently.”

Nesta and Mor looked at each other, then back at Rhys. “Where exactly is the polite company?” Nesta inquired mildly.

“That is a very good question,” Feyre answered, entering the hall. Cassian prowled behind her, expression stormy. She dropped a kiss on Rhys’s cheek before slipping into the seat next to him. Cassian threw himself onto his chair, arms crossed, and Nesta pressed his knee with her own. He gave her an apologetic grimace that was intended to be a smile and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. Glancing at Feyre did not help her maintain her composure, as her sister’s own lips were twitching. Whatever had been gotten Cassian riled was clearly not of any dire nature. Everyone watched him quietly for a moment while he chewed on his lip.

He finally erupted. “I’m going to wallop her!” His hand slammed onto his table.

“Who?” Mor and Amren chorused, while Nesta asked, “Sabine?”  
“Yes!” He fumed silently for another moment before going on. “She had the balls to ask me if I was going to invite her father to our mating ceremony. Of course, she called him our father. Why the hell is she even thinking about the ceremony? How does she even know? You’ve been able to feel the bond for all of one day.”

Azriel cleared his throat and said quietly, “Well, brother, you’ve been engaged for a few weeks now.”

Cassian glared at him. “She had already asked about the wedding, just assuming she’d be part of it. Now she’s trying to shove into the mating ceremony that Nesta and I haven’t even had a chance to discuss.”

Mor raised a hand. “Um, I may have told Brisa about the events yesterday, and I guess she could have told Sabine.”

The warrior whirled to her. “What? Why? When?”

“I ran into her at Rita’s last night,” she said, shrugging. “She asked me if anything exciting was going on. I didn’t realize it was a secret, I’m sorry.”

His brow furrowed and jaw clenched as he looked at Mor, anger darkening his eyes. Nesta wanted to kiss the little wrinkles between those eyes, that muscle feathering in his cheek, but settled for brushing his hand with hers and murmuring, “It’s okay, Cass. Everyone was going to learn eventually.” 

After a brief moment he glanced at Nesta, then took a breath and settled back into his chair, turning his attention to the food. Tension still rolled off of him, but he did a passable job of acting normal as they ate and discussed the growing rift the death of the eldest mortal queen had caused on the Continent, and what that might mean for the movement going forward. When the meal was finally over, and Rhys had agreed to join Nesta and Amren the next day, Nesta took Cassian’s proffered arm and they walked in silence to the roof. “Can we go out?” he asked abruptly as he scooped her into his arms.

“Sure, if you want.” So much for going home and finding inventive ways to relieve his tension, but they hadn’t gone dancing in a while, and dancing was often a good source of inspiration.

*****

They landed at the top of a hill unfamiliar to Nesta. Cassian strode down the darkening street, fast enough Nesta nearly had to jog to catch up. She took his hand and he slowed, squeezing hers in a gentle apology. “Why does it bother you so much?” Nesta asked. “They don’t mean any harm.”

He stopped abruptly and turned to her, his free hand moving to her cheek. “Because you and I haven’t even had a chance to talk about this, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let them push you into something you don’t want.” 

“Oh. So it’s not that you don’t…want…all of this?”

He laughed, loud and long, before taking her face between his hands and answering, “I want nothing more than to be with you for the rest of time. I’d be mated or married or whatever you want tomorrow if we could arrange it. But if we let Sabine and Mor and everyone take over, we’ll end up having half the Night Court at the ceremony.” Nesta blanched at that idea, and there was a smile in his voice as he continued, “And since I highly doubt that’s what you want, I’m going to fight like hell to prevent it.” He kissed her thoroughly, and a couple of kids on the street whooped. “Now let’s go dance.”

The club was busy, almost as jam-packed as Rita’s always was, the music just as demanding. “Let’s grab a drink first,” Cassian said in her ear as he steered her towards a booth. Leaving her there with a kiss to her hair, he headed towards the bar.

“Cass!” 

Nesta’s head snapped up at the unfamiliar voice, and she glanced at him where he had stopped, halfway across the floor. She noted the stiffening of his posture, the subtle tightening of his hands into fists, as a tall, curvy female with large dark eyes and full lips approached. “Hello, Tamirah,” he said warily.

“It’s been ages since I saw you last,” she replied brightly, “I was wondering when you’d come seek me out.”

“I’m not…” he started. “I’m with someone.”

She laughed, a high, fluttering sound. “I heard you had someone sharing your bed,” she said, “but that never stopped you before.”

“This is different,” he said warmly. 

Nesta smiled internally at that warmth, though her impassive mask did not shift. She pretended to be watching the dancers as his eyes flicked to her, then felt Tamirah’s attention shift to her as well. “Oh, she is lovely, though I heard she’s colder than ice. Well she’d be welcome to join us, you know I’m always up for that. And I know you’ve always enjoyed having multiple females at once as well.” Nesta could feel his flinch down the bond. The tall female moved as if to run a hand over his chest but he snarled at her, viciously enough that all the nearby dancers stopped and stared. She took an involuntary step backwards, then laughed again to cover her confusion. The others shuffled away before resuming their dance, continuing to glance nervously at the warrior.

“You know,” she drawled, cocking her head to the side as she studied Nesta, who still pretended her attention lay elsewhere, “she looks just like the High Lady.” Her eyes moved back to Cassian, a nasty smile playing over her lips. “There was a rumor that you and Feyre had a fling before the High Lord claimed her.” Cassian’s Siphons flared a little, but Tamirah didn’t notice the brief flash of red light. “She certainly has a taste for powerful males, doesn’t she. First the Spring Court lord, then you, then Rhysand…I know you and the High Lord are close as brothers, but I guess he wasn’t willing to share. Looks like you found your own version to play with.” 

Nesta had nearly leaped from her seat at the reference to Feyre, but on feeling Cassian’s anger flare through the bond she settled back to see how he would handle it. There was nothing of his usual warmth and kindness in his face; no, he looked truly menacing as he stepped towards Tamirah, towering over her. “If you ever - EVER - insult our High Lady again I will break your fucking neck,” he said, voice low but all the more threatening for it. “It just so happens that Nesta is Feyre’s sister. And my mate. So do me a favor, Tamirah. Since you love to spread rumors, tell everyone you know that I am mated, and to be married, and completely in love with the High Lady’s sister. And get the hell out of my face.”

Tamirah obeyed, scurrying for the door with real fear in her face. Nesta couldn’t help it, she reached a tendril of power out to her. The tall female’s life force was limp, held together by thousands of tiny threads that spread out to others in a huge fragile web. There were no thicker threads to anchor her, no strong connections to anyone. Nesta couldn’t be angry at her, she just felt…sorry. Even when she had herself barricaded behind ice, Feyre and Elain had always kept their bonds strong and now she was tethered to so many. This female had no one really, just the illusion of a lot of someones.

A tug from one of Nesta’s someones drew her focus back to Cassian. He was watching her, expression wary and a hint of sadness in his eyes, and he turned away as she met his gaze. She rose and eased through the crowd which had encroached upon Cassian again, until she was standing next to him, lightly brushing his arm with her shoulder. He just looked down at her, and there was something in his face she couldn’t read, a void where the humor usually underlay everything else. She ran a questioning internal finger down the bond and it came to her - shame. Her chest ached, and she searched for what to say to let him know she understood, that she didn’t care about anyone he’d let into his life or his bed before her. 

“So, I take it she won’t be sending us a Solstice card?” His lips twitched but he didn’t reply, and the flash of humor didn’t reach his eyes. She tried again. “We can seat her next to Sabine’s father at the ceremony. I bet they’d hit it off.” A low growl but a slight thaw. “I’ve always wondered what the role of the third person was in a multi-partner situation. It sounds like she’s an expert. Maybe I should go ask her for information. Maybe she’s written a book.” Now he was struggling not to laugh, and she nudged him with her shoulder. “I never thought you were celibate for five hundred years.”

He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I know, it’s just…running into her with you here…”

“Well,” she said, tone practical, “I imagine if we wanted to avoid all of your former lovers we could never leave the apartment.” 

He started to protest, but paused. “Okay, you may have a point.” 

“And as long as I’m the only one around at present-”

“You are.”

“- then I don’t care.” He wrapped his arms around her then, pressing her into his chest and kissing her temple before resting his chin on her head. She felt the tension he’d been vibrating with leave him. Another question flitted through her, but now was not the time to ask it. She tugged him towards the bar. While they waited for the attention of one the bartenders, she read the various signs that listed the different drinks.

“What’s a Gravedigger?” she asked.

Cassian laughed. “Trouble in a glass.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s some specialty cocktail they make. I had two once and it put me completely under the table, Az had to drag me home.” He laughed again at the memory.

“I want to try one.”

“No you don’t.”

Her eyes flashed. “Are you telling me what I can have?”

“Of course not,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “You want a Gravedigger, that’s fine, I can carry you home. But don’t blame me in the morning.” The female bartender turned to them then, and Cassian raised his eyebrows at Nesta. She nodded. “I’ll have a brown ale,” he said, “and the she’ll have a Gravedigger. And a glass of water.” The golden-haired bartender was grinning, her exotic face alight with humor as she returned with the drinks. Nesta took a cautious sip of hers. It didn’t burn as she expected, but instead a gentle warmth flowed through her. She rolled a second sip on her tongue, savoring the way the sweetness of fruit and honey was balanced by the slight sharpness of the alcohol. A third sip and she felt strong, bold. What had Cassian been worrying about? She drank the rest down and then grabbed his hand and dragged him out onto the dance floor. 

They danced forever, Nesta surrendering herself completely to the music, the pulse of the crowd, all those bright lives moving around her, with her. The life force flowed through all, she was everyone and everyone was her. There was no way of knowing how much time had passed, time really didn’t mean anything after all, it was just a construct, when strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her away from the small group she had joined. She swayed slightly and her back hit against something warm and solid. She tilted her head back and found herself looking up a vaguely familiar pair of nostrils. Her focus shifted and there were amused hazel eyes behind those nostrils. She spent a moment going back and forth between nostrils and eyes. Odd that she could control that. Something tickled her face and she reached a hand up to brush it away, but it wasn’t the light feather she was expecting. Instead her hand smacked the face above hers, one finger going into an eye. Ew. There was a deep grunt that reverberated through her back, and the face above hers pulled back. Now she could see a mouth above a strong chin, and black hair curving down around it. “Must you poke my eye out, love?” a familiar voice asked. 

“Is she okay?” came a husky female voice from nearby. Nesta turned towards the sound and saw a blur of golden hair surrounding sapphire-colored eyes in a narrow pink oval. She blinked, and the blur coalesced into a face with sharp, exotic features.

“I think so,” replied the voice behind her. “I guess I better bring her home though. I don’t know what you put in that shit, but Mother above…”

There was a warm laugh. “Need help?” 

“No thanks.” The face above her swung from side to side, making her dizzy, and she felt herself being hoisted off the ground. She was floating, suspended, and she stretched her arms over her head, bending backwards over the two hard beams that held her up. Other hands brushed hers, and there was a murmuring as she passed weightlessly through the crowd. Then they were outside, the cool air bracing. She gulped it down like water and felt her head clear a little. She knew these arms that held her.

“Cassian?” she asked.

“Yes, love?” he rumbled, as something dark spread behind him. His wings.

“I love you, Cassian,” she said, tears starting in her eyes. How had she never really realized this? How deep this went? How it affected every part of her?

“That’s a relief,” he replied, then kissed her forehead and launched them into the sky.

The cold air nipped at her skin and tore at her hair as they sailed over the city. “We’re flying!” she shouted. 

“Mother’s tits, Nesta, we fly every day.”

“But we’re really flying! Don’t you know how…how…what a miracle that is?”

His whole body vibrated and she grabbed at his shoulders in case they should fall. What was wrong with him? Was he having some sort of fit? They touched down on a roof and he set her gently down before bending over, howling with laughter. She didn’t know what was so funny, so she just waited. Finally, he regained control and straightened. “Come on, love,” he said, scooping her up again, “let’s get you to bed.”

The apartment was dark as he kicked open the door, and there was a patter of tiny feet and then a small squeak, then lights flared to reveal the fluffy gray cat. “Willow,” Nesta said, tears welling again. “Willow, I missed you, kitty. I love you.” 

Cassian carried her down the hall with the cat trotting behind and set her carefully on the bed then knelt to remove her shoes. She sat watching him, the way the hair had escaped from its tie to fall across his cheekbone, his fingers undoing the straps of her shoes. He pulled her to her feet and deftly flipped back the bedcover, then began unbuttoning her dress. She pushed at him. “I shouldn’t,” she said, and the words sounded uncomfortably loud in her ears. “I have a mate.” 

“Yes, love, you do. Me,” he replied, continuing to gently undress her. Desire flared through her at the scrape of his fingers against her bare shoulders as he eased the dress down. He picked her up and lay her down on the bed, then tucked the covers around her. She grabbed his shirt when he tried to turn away, and tugged him down so his face was close to hers. 

“I want…” she couldn’t think of what she was going to say. He waited patiently until she remembered. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Not tonight, sweetheart,” he said, a smile in his voice. 

“But why not?” She smacked him lightly on the shoulder. 

“You’re drunk.”

“Nah, I’m not drunk. That’s just a…” Words were really hard to find. “An excuse. I’m not…I’m not a child. Don’t you want to fuck me?”

He sat on the edge of the bed, cupped the side of her face in his hand, and brushed his thumb across her cheekbone. “Yes, love, I do. But not like this.” She started to protest but he pressed a gentle finger against her lips. “If you still want me to in the morning, I promise I will.” He rose then and left the room before she could respond. Clinking sounded down the hall and she could hear Willow’s excited mews. Lights turned out in the apartment, and then Cassian came back into the bedroom. He shut out the lights, but she could still hear the rustle as he removed his clothes. Good. Once he was naked in bed she could convince him. But first, she would just close her eyes and rest for a minute. She felt the bed sink under his weight, then his arms wrapped around her and pulled her against him. In just a moment, she’d begin seducing him. She just needed a little rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Gravediggers" and the description of the bartender are an homage to Anne Bishop's Black Jewels Trilogy.


	17. Pillow Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta's a bit hungover

Nesta woke up to a pounding headache, her mouth feeling - and tasting - like it was stuffed with wool fresh from the sheep. She opened her eyes and groaned as the light stabbed into her retinas. 

“Good morning,” came a deep, amused voice next to her. “There’s water on the nightstand.”

She fumbled around half-blindly, knocking her book and who knows what else to the floor before finally closing her fingers around the glass. Scooting herself into a sitting position, she pressed her free hand against her temple while she guzzled the water. The headache lessened slightly, and she turned to find Cassian propped up against the headboard, long legs stretched out before him, a book open on his lap. Sickeningly awake and normal and grinning crookedly at her. “Bastard,” she said to him, her voice a croak.

He just laughed. “By birth and temperament.” He rose and left the room, and she looked away from his glorious ass to see a basin next to her side of the bed. Good. She’d probably need it if she tried to move. Cassian reappeared then with a small glass containing a very nasty-looking fluid. “Drink this.”

“Like hell I will,” she said, taking the glass from him anyway and sniffing it.

“Amren made it to cure hangovers, but I can just tell her you can’t train today because you refused her tonic. I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

“I hate everything about you right now,” she said, and gulped down the greenish, slimy tonic. It tasted almost as bad as it smelled, but in less than a minute she could feel the drumbeat in her head lessen and the nausea fade. She sighed in relief and made a mental note to thank Amren, even though she wouldn’t actually. 

Cassian took the glass from her and smirked. “Feeling better?” She gave him her best glare and he laughed and flopped back onto the bed before pulling her into his arms and pressing a series of tickling kisses against the side of her head and ear. She squealed and tried to pull away, waving her arms ineffectually in his direction.

“What the hell is wrong with you,” she finally bellowed and he stopped, plastering on a fake-hurt expression and releasing her. He couldn’t hold the pouty expression for long, though, and held his arm open for her to snuggle in next to him. She eyed him warily for a long second before complying. He tucked her into his side and rested his cheek against the top of her head. 

“How are you actually feeling?” he asked.

“Kind of tired. That disgusting stuff of Amren’s did actually help.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that stuff has saved me many times.”

“What’s in it?”

“I’m too afraid to ask. Did you at least have fun last night?”

Nesta thought for a second. “I don’t honestly know, did I have fun last night?” 

“Well, judging by the wild success of your strip tease, I should think so. They offered you a job, you know.”

Her blue-gray eyes looked at him levelly. “Of course they did, they’d be fools not to. The money better be good though.” 

“Oh, you’ll be pleased when you see the deal I made on your behalf. I was a little surprised when you decided to get that tattoo though. Even though I love the idea of my face being forever on your -” 

She smacked his shoulder, laughing. “No, seriously.”

“You danced, you stabbed me in the eye, you were astonished I could fly, you tried to seduce me. Pretty normal night, really.”

She mulled this over. “Tried to seduce you? Are you saying I was unsuccessful?”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m saying I’m a gentleman, and would never take advantage of a lady in such a compromised position.” 

“That may be the first time in history you could accurately be referred to as a gentleman, but okay.” Nesta laid her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “I wish we could sit here all day,” she murmured, an unfamiliar feeling of contentment washing through her.

“Well, we can until lunch,” he said. “I rescheduled everything for the afternoon.”

“Mmm,” was all she could manage before she was asleep again. 

Tiny feet marching over her lap and up her chest woke her a little while later. She opened her eyes to Willow an inch from her face, staring. As soon as she saw Nesta open her eyes, the little cat bumped her head against her nose hard enough to make her eyes water, then marched away again with a little trill. A clear signal that breakfast was late. Nesta shifted and Cassian startled awake next to her, sitting up abruptly and rubbing a hand over his face. “Did I fall asleep?” he asked.

“Looks that way,” she replied, biting back her laughter. Even disheveled, hair sticking to the corner of his mouth, he made her pulse race. A mew from down the hall pulled her from the bed before she could attack him, and she slipped on a robe then padded into the kitchen behind that perky gray tail. She set coffee on to brew and began prepping the kitten’s food, a task made more difficult by the fluffball winding her way around her legs as she tried to move. Finally the kitten was fed and she poured herself a cup of coffee. The last remnant of her fog left her as she sipped from the steaming mug.

Pouring a second cup, she walked back into the bedroom where her mate was still stretched out on the bed. His hazel eyes followed her as she set his cup on his bedside table and walked around to her side of the bed. He flipped the covers back for her and she slipped in next to him, suddenly aware that he was still very naked. She watched the muscles roll in his shoulders and back as he reached for his coffee, the tattoo down his spine partially exposed through the gap in his wings. Her mind went to the bland, boring men she had been forced to deal with in the human world, and she shook her head at the thought of what she would have been willing to settle for. The Cauldron had indeed given her a gift, as unwanted as it had been at the time. Not that she would tell him that.

Another memory popped up then, and she would have smiled had he not been watching her. Instead, she put on her most serious face and said, “We need to talk.” His expression immediately became wary and he sat up straighter, ready to do battle. “I seem to recall running into one of your lovers last night.” His eyes narrowed and he set his cup down with a loud clink. “And that she suggested that you enjoy having multiple females at once.” He crossed his arms, and tightened his mouth. “I seem to remember that she had offered to fulfill that desire, as apparently she has in the past.” She paused for a beat. “And I was wondering why you turned her down cold without even consulting me.” Her lips betrayed her then, stretching into a mischievous smile, and he threw his head back and howled with laughter before turning to her with his own crooked grin. 

“Because,” he said, reaching for the tie to her robe, “Tamirah is very selfish in bed.” He pulled on it slowly, watching as the fabric gaped as it loosened, exposing her breast. “And I don’t want to share you with someone like that.” His warm hand slipped through the opening in the robe, easing it back, freeing her other breast. “Besides, I don’t think you would enjoy playing second fiddle.” He pounced then, on top her so quickly she almost couldn’t see the movement. His lips were at her neck, trailing kisses down to her shoulder, where he encountered the robe. Growling, he tugged the robe roughly off her shoulder, then off her completely before flinging it across the room. He gripped her hips and yanked her down so she was flat on her back, his knees up against her ass as he sat back on his heels, towering over her. Her eyes traced hungrily down his body, over the swirling tattoos on his shoulders with the wings peeking above them, down the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen, to his half-hard cock. She could feel her mouth go dry as heat pooled in her core, and she licked her lips. He was staring at that mouth as he traced a finger slowly up the inside of her thigh, running it lightly along the junction of her leg and body, carefully avoiding the area she now desperately wanted him to touch. He bent back over her and kissed her, and she responded greedily, putting her hands behind his head to deepen the kiss. 

Pulling free from her effortlessly, he shifted to her ear, lightly nibbling, sucking the lobe into his mouth before moving to her neck and working his way slowly to her shoulder and down her arm. He pulled one of her fingers into his mouth and sucked on it lightly, playing with his tongue along the junction between her fingers, and she shivered with the unexpected jolt that ran through her core. He grinned at her around the finger still in his mouth, and her own mouth fell a little open at the sight. When he caught the adjacent finger in his mouth and began working his tongue around and between them, she honestly thought she might climax just from that. She shifted a little, unable to hold still, trying to somehow press herself against his leg, anything to give her some release, but he bit down at the base of her fingers hard enough to make her freeze. 

He finally released her hand and moved his mouth to the inside of her knee, lifting her leg with his arm so he could nibble his way up the back of her leg. Still hooking that leg over his arm, he swiped his tongue up her entrance just once before moving to her navel. She was desperate, so desperate for release but he continued to explore every inch of her with that sinful mouth. When he had worked his way back up over her breasts to her neck, she could feel his cock, now rock-hard, pressing against her abdomen. Reaching down, she wrapped her hand firmly around his shaft, tugging him, needing him to be as desperate as she was. His breath caught and he made a small moan as she worked him, and that was enough. 

Wrapping her legs around his waist, she guided him so he was up against her entrance. He took the cue and pushed into her in a long, slow stroke. She gasped, already so close, the stretch that his penetration caused nearly pushing her over the edge. He pulled back and then eased in again, the movement slow but deep, so deep. Digging her nails into his back, almost deep enough to break skin, she scraped them up either side of his spine to the base of his wings. He groaned and arched his back into her hand as he began moving faster, harder. She began to fracture around him, her vision going blurry, and she bit down on his shoulder hard enough to taste blood, stifling her cries against his skin. Somehow he held back his own release, continuing to drive into her, not allowing her to go back down before he brought her back to the verge again. He was whispering something in her ear, that was her name on his lips, as he finally climaxed with a roar that she felt sure could be heard out on the river. She was trembling, still close to going over a second time, when he pulled out and settled between her legs. Before she even realized what he was doing, his tongue was swirling on that bundle of nerves that was already so sensitized, and she shattered again. This time, her cries were as loud as his.

Cassian crawled up her body and settled beside her, resting on an elbow, just watching her as he ran a calloused hand gently over her body. She looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, trying to form some sort of coherent thought. He kissed her gently, and she moaned at their mingled tastes on his lips. “I love the noises you make,” he said against her mouth. “It makes me never want to leave this bed.”

“But that would limit our options,” she replied.

“True,” he said, kissing her again before settling down with one hand tucked under his cheek, the other resting on her waist. They lay nose to nose for a while, just sharing breath. Her body felt foreign to her, like her limbs were only partially connected. “Actually we haven’t had an adventure in a while, have we.”

“Well, since you won’t share me, maybe we’ll have to get creative again in other ways.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Nesta, if you want to invite someone else to our bed, that’s up to you, I would never deny you. But I need nobody but you ever again.”

His words triggered another memory, another worry. “I don’t mind running into your former lovers,” she said quietly, trying to keep a little humor in her voice, rubbing her hand over his ribcage, “but do I need to worry about your children running around Velaris?”

She felt his whole body tense briefly, then relax again. “Not unless the tonic I’ve been taking for the past five hundred years has failed me, no.”

A jolt went through her, followed by a wave of what felt an awful lot like relief. “You’ve been taking a tonic?”

“Of course,” he said with a bit of a cynical laugh. “I’m not forcing some poor child to be raised a bastard, and since I never met anyone before now whom I actually wanted to stay with, I’ve done what I can to prevent it.” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. When she re-opened them, he was looking at her with too much understanding. “I thought you knew I was taking it.”

She shook her head. “No, and since I’m not, I’ve been starting to wonder why…”

“Why you’re not pregnant?” She nodded, closing her eyes again, unable to speak, a cacophony of emotions swirling through her. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted children, but she wanted the option, and her failure to conceive despite her own negligence had begun to worry her. He pulled her in even closer, so it felt like every inch of them was touching. “The moment you’re ready, say the word, and I’ll stop. But I wasn’t going to trap you like that. We have too much to work out still, and I want to be bound to you fully before we even consider it. I won’t risk any child going through what I went through.” There were tears seeping out from underneath her lids and she honestly didn’t know why. She felt his lips on her cheeks gently kissing them away.

“I want to get married,” she said suddenly. 

“I thought that was the plan.”

“Married and mated, as soon as possible.”

He laughed. “We could go to the priestess tonight if you want.” 

She thought about that seriously for a moment, and then shook her head. “No, I do want the family there, but let me talk to my sisters. Elain’s not going to be back for another week, but as soon after that as we can do it.”

He rested his hand against her cheek, looking at her seriously. “I will do whatever you want, love. I have only one request.”

“Oh?”

“Just one.”

“Okay…”

“I need final say over the guest list. Because if Sabine and her father somehow end up invited, I don’t want to be tempted to commit murder at my own ceremony.”

Nesta bit back a laugh and arched an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know, I had my heart set on having them there. I was going to invite…what was her name? Tamirah, too.” He glowered at her but was unsuccessful at fully controlling his grin. “What will you give me in exchange?”

“Anything you want.”

“Anything?” She glanced down to where their hips were pressed against each other, and he quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Anything.” And with feline grace that belied his huge frame, he rose up on his hands and knees and began to make good on his promise.


	18. Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta and Cassian prepare for their wedding

Nesta tapped her pen against the paper. “I don’t see why I have to do this,” she said flatly.

Feyre sighed, already exasperated, and set her teacup down with a click. “You’re the one who burst in here this afternoon and told me you had to get married as soon as possible. Making a list of what you need to get done is the bare minimum if you really expect to be ready in two weeks.”

“Okay, fine,” Nesta grumbled. She contemplated just giving up on the whole thing, shredding the papers she’d been writing on, and telling Cassian they should just run away, but she supposed now her sister knew that option was done for. “So far we’ve got: location to figure out, catering, dress -”

“Just ask Rhys about the dress,” Feyre cut in, “he probably already has something.” 

“Why would he have a dress for me?” Nesta asked, a bit suspiciously. The tendency of everyone in the Inner Circle to be constantly in everybody else’s business had not grown on her with exposure.

“Well, it’s been weeks since you announced you planned to get married,” Feyre said, like that was a normal explanation. Evidently Nesta should automatically expect her brother-in-law to produce a wedding dress for her, just like that.

Nesta sat back in her chair and looked at her sister through narrowed eyes. “What is it with Rhys and clothes? Where does he get them all?”

Feyre just shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never asked. His taste is better than mine anyway.”

An image of her sister’s tall, elegant mate sitting in a private room somewhere sewing furiously popped into Nesta’s mind, and she snorted. Her sister looked at her in some confusion and she just waved her hand in dismissal. “Should I cross ‘dress’ off then?”

“No, let’s make sure I’m right first. And that you like it. He’ll be here any minute anyway for your session.” Ugh, magic lessons. She felt awkward enough with Amren, having Rhys staring at her too didn’t really sound appealing, but she did want to start understanding what she could - and should - do with the fact that she now could hear everybody’s life force. Certainly before she killed someone by mistake. Feyre went on. “We don’t need to worry about flowers, Elain will take care of that. And I bet Mor has some ideas about catering. Do you want to use the priestess Elain and Lucien had?”

“Is that the same one you used?”

“Yes.”

“Might as well be consistent then.” Nesta wrote down ‘Priestess’ with a small arrow that led to ‘whoever Feyre says.’ She tapped the pen against her teeth. “What else is there?”

“Do you have a guest list yet?” Nesta most certainly did; she hid her grin as she slid it over to her sister, who read it out loud. “‘Feyre, Elain, Rhys, The Bastard,’ really, Nesta, is that necessary? ‘Azriel, Amren, Mor,’ all plus one, ‘Nuala, Cerridwen,’ oh good, I’m glad you’re inviting them, ‘Clotho and the rest of the librarians…’” She looked up and smiled. “What a great idea.” Nesta just shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Who’s ‘Tamirah' and why is her name surrounded by little hearts?’” 

“Oh, that’s just a special one for Cassian,” Nesta replied with a bit of an evil grin.

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” 

“And ‘Willow.’ You’re inviting your cat?”

“Of course. She’s part of the family.”

Shaking her head, Feyre grabbed the to-do list Nesta was now doodling on and scanned the sheet. “What do you want to do about invitations?”

Nesta made a face. “Do you really think we need them? It’s mostly just the family anyway.”

Feyre looked rather shocked. “Of course you need invitations! Cerridwen did them for Elain’s wedding, I’m sure she’d be happy to do yours. And it’s not like we need one for Willow.” She chuckled.

“Why doesn’t Willow get one if everyone else does?” Nesta asked, deadpan.

“Does she really need one? She can’t read.”

“Probably not, but it seems rude to exclude her if we do them for everyone else.” Nesta stole her paper back and noted ‘Cerridwen’ next to ‘Invitations.’ 

“Oh, and you’ll need to write your vows.”

Nesta’s stomach dropped. She had never considered that; never thought about baring her soul in front of all those people, even if it was mostly just family. “Write my…don’t the High Fae have some sort of set ceremony? I thought I was just going to have to say, ‘I do’ or something.”

Her sister laughed. “Didn’t you notice that Elain and Lucien had written their vows?”

“Well, yes, but that’s Elain and Lucien, they have no issue with being all, I don’t know, verbal. They also had about a thousand people at their ceremony. I thought I could get out of it.” She thought for a moment; Elain’s was the only Fae ceremony she had been to. “Did you write your own vows?”

She didn’t understand the expression that crossed Feyre’s face at what was intended to be an innocent question. It looked almost like guilt. “We didn’t have time to write anything, actually. Since we did it so fast, we just kind of said what was in our hearts at the moment. I honestly don’t even remember what we said.”

Nesta pondered that. While there was something appealing about sneaking out in the middle of the night and spontaneously getting married, or mated, or whatever you wanted to call it, she didn’t want to not be able to remember it. She didn’t want the handful of people she loved to not be a part of it. “What would you write if you had to do it over again?”

Feyre’s voice was hesitant, contemplative. “I think I’d want to tell the story of how I came to love him. Not so much the mating bond - as deep as it is, I think that’s more biological than anything. But how he kept me from breaking and taught me and brought me out of the despair I had fallen into. How he always had so much faith in me, and how he always just knew me. Knew what I needed, even if it wasn’t what I wanted. Does that make sense?” 

Nesta nodded thoughtfully. Grabbing a fresh sheet of paper, she began to write. Feyre poured herself a fresh cup of mint tea and sipped while she waited. When she was nearly down to the dregs, her sister passed the paper to her then watched her, expressionless, while she read it. Feyre looked up. “This is beautiful,” she said softly. “It’s perfect.” Nesta took the paper and tucked it away. Before they could return to their planning, Rhys and Amren appeared.

“What’s all this?” Amren asked, looking at the scattered papers.

“Oh, we’re just planning Nesta and Cassian’s wedding,” Feyre said breezily. “We’ve got about two weeks.”

Rhys whistled. “Looks like magic training is going to wait a bit. We’ve got more important work to do.” The three females looked at him expectantly. He grinned. “Want to see the dresses I picked out?”

Amren rolled her eyes. “If you are all going to be gushing over wedding dresses, I’m going to go to Summer Court. See you in a couple of weeks.” She winnowed away in the middle of Nesta’s protest. Rhys just shrugged, looking bemusedly at the spot she had just vacated.

“I was still planning on doing some training, but I guess that gives us a little more flexibility. Come on, let’s go upstairs.” The sisters followed him into Nesta’s old room, where he pulled three different dresses from a pocket realm and hung them on the armoire door. All three were stunning, but Nesta only had eyes for the one on the left. 

“That’s it,” she said, pointing. He handed it to her and she stalked towards the bathing room, Nuala appearing out of nowhere to assist her. Feyre looked at her mate.

“That was easy,” she said. 

“She’s easy to select for,” he said. “She always favors the more simple, elegant styles.”

“You knew she was going to pick that one?” He nodded and Feyre surveyed the other two. “Well, they’re all gorgeous, but I think it’s the one I would’ve chosen for her too.”

Mor burst through the door just as Nesta emerged from the bathing room in her regular clothes. “Hey, bitch, when were you going to tell me you’re planning your wedding?”

Nesta blinked. “Was I supposed to tell you before I told my sisters?”

“Of course,” Mor said, breezing past her cousin and Feyre to flop on the bed. “I’m the party planner extraordinaire around here.”

Giving a small mocking bow, Nesta replied, “My apologies, I did not know that was one of your formal titles. I hereby appoint you queen of the catering. May you prosper.”

Mor returned the bow as best she could from the bed, with a flourish of her hand. “I shall not disappoint.”

Feyre broke in before the verbal sparring could come to a head. “Where’s the dress? Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“Wait, I missed the dress?” Mor interjected.

“Then can’t we see it?” Feyre asked almost simultaneously.

“No.” Nesta could tell Feyre was biting her cheek to keep from snapping at her, and tried hard to not snap her response, though she hated having to defend herself about it. “Half the people invited are in this room right now. The dress fits, it’s exactly what I want, and you’ll see it in two weeks. And don’t you dare use your Daemati powers on me. Or Nuala.”

Feyre and Mor both turned to Rhys, who had been watching the three females with some amusement. He shoved his hands in his pockets with his usual grace. “It’s up to Nesta. I’m staying out of it.”

“Ugh, what good is being High Lady if I can’t even make my own sister show me how she looks in her wedding dress?” Feyre asked no one in particular.

 

*****

Cassian was sitting in the family library in the House of Wind, thinking, a blank pad of paper and a pen on the low table in front of him. There was so much he wanted to say to Nesta when they bound themselves to each other in just one short week, but he could not for the life of him figure out how. He had cut his training session with Brisa short, sending her to spar with Sabine and Az, while he had flown here to do - exactly nothing. He growled at the paper, as if he could somehow intimidate it into writing his vows for him. 

The door swung open and Lucien walked in. He and Elain had returned from the Dawn Court late the night before. “This is…the exact last place I would expect to find you,” Lucien said by way of greeting. Cassian couldn’t even find a snappy retort. Damnit. He rubbed his face with his hands, then let them drop into his lap. “Why does it seem like every time I see you, something is always bothering you?”

“Because every time you see me, you’re in the room. It’s a paradox.” There, at least he was able to come up with something.

“My my, another big word. Though I suppose I set myself up for that one.” He studied the empty paper, russet eye narrowing. “Let me guess, you’re working on a dissertation on the usefulness of wings.”

Cassian huffed what might have been a laugh. “I wish, I’d have a thousand pages by now. No, I’m trying to write my vows.”

The red-haired male slipped into the seat next to him and put his feet up on the table. “Well, since I just did this a few weeks ago, let me give you some advice.” 

“Okay,” he replied, eyeing the court-trained male warily.

“I’d advise against going with, ‘You’re my mate. Let’s fuck.’ It kind of takes away from the grandeur of the moment.”

Now Cassian laughed for real. “I wouldn’t want to steal your line anyway. I was practically unconscious at the time, but wasn’t that basically what you said when Elain came out of the Cauldron?”

A smirk played on Lucien’s lips. “I told you I was speaking from experience.” He crossed his arms and looked straight into Cassian’s steady hazel eyes. “Why do you want to marry her? What first drew you to her, though I doubt you got a lot of encouragement? You’ve been alive and from what I’ve gathered, fucking freely for over five hundred years. Why decide now to bind yourself to her?”

The slight disdain in his tone coupled with the emphasis on the last word had anger flaring, and Cassian leaned forward, every inch the warrior. He opened his mouth, and Lucien pointed at the paper. “Don’t tell me, write.” His mouth tightened, but he took up his pen and began to work. There was a lot of crossing out and long pauses, but eventually he stopped, surveyed his work, then passed the paper to Lucien, who had been watching the process with no little amusement.

“I hope that wasn’t as painful as it looked,” he said, before reading the lines. “Mother’s tits, your handwriting is atrocious.” His expression changed from its usual irreverence as his eyes scanned the page, and he handed it back wordlessly. Cassian looked at him with a question on his face, and Lucien merely nodded. Standing, he walked towards the stacks, dropping a hand briefly on Cassian’s shoulder as he passed.

*****

Elain walked into the kitchen garden, bearing a tray full of iced tea that she set out for everyone before settling into a chair herself. It was an unusually warm day for this late in the fall and everyone was soaking up the last of the sun’s rays. She looked even more beautiful than ever, Nesta thought; more grounded, which seemed ironic given how much time Elain always spent with the earth. Unlike herself, Elain had always imagined and wished to be married with children and a nice manor house and everything. Though her current situation was not how she planned it when they were younger, being bonded forever to a male as magnetic as the fox-faced bastard didn’t seem to be disagreeing with her at all. Even if he was just about the polar opposite of Graysen. Nesta wasn’t sure which of the two males she despised more, Graysen for abandoning her sister or Lucien for winning her in the end. 

“So, I know you were talking about having the ceremony at the House of Wind,” Elain said, “but I’d like to make another suggestion.” Nesta, Feyre and Mor all looked at her expectantly. “There’s that walled garden I finished a few months ago, it’s totally enclosed so it would be nice and private, and there should be room for everyone since it’s such a small group.”

“That sounds like a great idea!” Mor exclaimed.   
Feyre looked a little more hesitant. “Isn’t it a little late in the season for a garden to be practical?” Nesta was internally grateful to her for asking the question; after all, it was close to winter.

Elain leaned forward eagerly. “No, not at all! I designed it to be usable in all seasons, and it’s spelled to protect it from any extreme cold. Right now it’s got beautiful foliage, and some nice rich flowers in reds and purples and yellows and there are some patches of white. They should go nicely with Cassian’s Siphons. Plus I can add some potted or cut flowers of whatever colors you want.”

Nesta smiled at her sister, at her palpable joy and excitement, as she said, “That sounds perfect, and I’ll trust your judgment as to what flowers are appropriate.” She thought Elain was going to take flight right there and disappear to prep the garden. It was obviously an effort her her sister to keep in her seat, but she managed to refocus on the rest of the task at hand. 

The three of them went through the extensive menu Mor proposed, then Elain asked to see the guest list. She studied it for a moment, then asked, “Why is there a burned out hole at the bottom of the list?”

Playing with a piece of her hair, Nesta replied airily, “Oh, Cassian took exception to one of my invitees.”

“But he’s okay with the cat coming?” Feyre asked drily.

Nesta leveled one of her flat looks at her. “Of course.” She didn’t understand her sister’s evident irritation at Willow’s inclusion; she’d always seemed to enjoy her playful antics when they spent time together.

Elain piped up, “I’ll manage Willow! Oh, I’d love to have her there.” Feyre subsided with a shrug and a wry smile, won over by her sweetness, just as everyone always was.

A shadow appeared overhead, and everyone looked up as Cassian touched down. “Everything going well?” he asked, bending down to brush a kiss to the top of Nesta’s head. 

The four women nodded in unison, then Nesta added, “Other than Feyre being beaten into submission about Willow being issued an invitation.” He laughed. 

“Can I be updated on the plans?” he requested as he sat on the edge of the table, all chairs being occupied. Elain and Mor immediately began running through all the details while Nesta sat back, a little bemused. Elain had been home for less than twenty four hours and was already more involved with the plans than she was. She met Cassian’s eyes and her mate gave a tiny shrug. They were lucky to be able to basically wind up the other females and let them go, though she did appreciate having final say. Not that she had had to overrule much of anything.

“We haven’t discussed one very important thing,” Mor said. “Alcohol.” Feyre nodded fervently. “I’ve already got wine planned, both sparkling and regular. What else do you want?”

Lucien winnowed in, as if summoned by the mention of liquor, and after kissing Elain and settling her in his lap he joined in. Only Rhys was absent, having left after their lesson to discuss some sort of assignment for the spymaster. She found herself missing him a little for some reason. He had been surprising her with his patience and understanding during their lessons. Together they had realized her power worked almost directly opposite his - when he wanted to kill, he pushed out with his power, while it seemed she needed to pull in. They speculated that was why she was unsuccessful against the King, as lashing out could affect a body but not terminally. Rhys could also affect a huge number at once, while she could sense many but only affect one at a time. The best thing from a day to day standpoint was she was discovering that she did possess a few of the extra abilities, like accessing pocket realms. He was also pretty sure she’d be able to winnow given how easily she could manipulate living energy, but she hadn’t managed yet.

Cassian began listing an impressive additional supply of spirits and Nesta refocused onto the conversation. Feyre chimed in with some of Rhys’s favorites. Nesta was fine with just the wine. She didn’t want to forget any of the ceremony, and after her experience with the Gravediggers she doubted her ability to handle anything stronger. Watching the others laugh and discuss the merits of various liquors warmed her; she loved her mate’s enthusiasm for all of this. In the human world, the men generally acted as if all this was the women’s territory and beneath them. Here, the males seemed to see the planning as not just a responsibility but a valued right. The two present males started an enthusiastic discussion of the merits of licorice in some sort of drink she’d never heard of before, and she sat back contentedly and let the noise and joy flow over her like water.

 

*****

The night before the wedding, Feyre had insisted that Nesta stay with her and Elain at the townhouse, just as they had for Elain’s wedding, so Cassian went back to the apartment alone. Willow greeted him with her usual demands for food and petting, then settled herself on the bookcase for a thorough wash and a nap. He hoped she would enjoy herself at the ceremony; she certainly had never seemed fazed by traveling to the cabin or the townhouse, so he suspected she would take it in stride. He ate and had just settled down on the couch with a glass of wine to read when he heard footsteps on the roof and headed up to check it out.

Azriel and Rhys were making themselves comfortable on the chairs Nesta had insisted be added to the chaise in the rooftop garden. They had brought a bottle of something stronger than the wine, no doubt secreted out from under Rhys’s bed. Cassian took the glass Rhys was holding out and claimed the chaise. Rhys held up his glass in a silent toast, and the other two echoed the gesture before they drank in unison. “Feyre kicked me out for the night,” he said ruefully. “So Az and I decided to come down and keep you company on your last night alone. Ready for tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he said, with unfeigned nonchalance. “I mean, we’ve been living together for a few months now. This is just a ceremony to make it all official, right? I don’t really expect anything to change other than getting used to wearing a ring.” He actually couldn’t wait for that part; he loved the rings Rhys had helped him select.

The High Lord looked contemplative. “I don’t know, my situation was so different. I mean, we’d only really been together a few days before we had the ceremony, and it was all so rushed…But I definitely felt like having it official made it seem so much more permanent.” He thought for a moment before continuing, “Somehow, when that priestess declared us married and mated, it was like the bond connected in our bones, not just our hearts. Does that make sense?”

It was hard for Cassian to imagine the bond being any deeper or more enduring, but he nodded and took a sip of his drink. He was really going to have to figure out his brother’s source of alcohol at some point, because damn, that shit was good. There was a patter of tiny feet and Willow appeared on the roof, pausing to look around and sniff for a moment, tail twitching. Her domain adequately surveyed, she scampered to Azriel and leaped onto his lap, arching her body up to bump him in the face with her little head. He looked to Cassian with a long-suffering expression, but his hand stroked her automatically and her wild purr reverberated through the garden.

“Why must your cat torture me?” he asked in that cold voice, while scritching under her chin with his scarred fingers. 

“She likes you,” Cassian replied, “is that a bad thing?” Willow stuffed her tail up Azriel’s nose while vigorously kneading his knee with her tiny needle claws and he glared at his brother, who was struggling not to laugh. “Are you bringing anyone tomorrow?”

“I’m thinking Willow should be my date at this point,” he replied. The cat responded by sprawling out on her back along his thigh, fluffy gray belly exposed, feet curling in the air. 

The others both laughed but Cassian sobered quickly. He studied his brother. “Mor’s bringing someone,” he said abruptly. Rhys’s head snapped up, a warning in his eyes. 

Az’s fingers didn’t pause in their massage of the blissful cat’s neck. “I know.” There was not a trace of emotion in his voice or on his face. 

Cassian opened his mouth, but Rhys interrupted. “Leave it alone.”

Az looked between his two brothers for a long moment. “I always hoped you two would understand,” he said, the slightest hint of disappointment in his voice, his shadows curling around his shoulders. “I know Feyre doesn’t, but she’s young, and has a human heart.”

“Understand what?” Cassian asked, quite gently for him.

“I am…content, with how things are,” he replied quietly. “I have no need to share my life with anyone beyond the family.” 

“But -” Cassian started to protest and Az spoke over him, perhaps for the first time in history.

“I do not need what you need, brother. I am happy for you, for all of you,” he looked to Rhys, “but I have no desire for that type of bond myself. I thought you could understand that.”

The other two exchanged looks. “But what about Mor?” Cassian finally asked.

“Any feelings I had for Mor beyond the familial faded a long time ago. It’s just that none of you noticed.” There was a cold anger rising in his face, despite the dry humor in his voice. “You have been assuming for all these years that I sought what you did. But I have all I need with the two of you. Brothers who truly care for me.” Cassian thought of Az’s biological brothers and his eyes flicked to the scarred hands beneath the blue Siphons. Rhys’s attention was similarly focused. “And you,” he turned to Rhys, who pulled his violet eyes up to meet his gaze, “brought me the added benefit of Feyre, who despite the fact that she wants for me what I do not desire for myself, also truly cares.”

Cassian was struggling to understand this. He thought back to how his life had been before Feyre had fallen into it and brought her sisters with her; back to before Rhys had disappeared Under the Mountain. He had been comfortable, yes, but always restless; he would never have described himself as content. Even when he was sated following a good fight or a good fuck or preferably both, as soon as the fatigue wore off the buzzing energy had returned. But he had never seen that with Az, who would take a lover, yes, but without that driving need. Who while he fought and practiced with an eye to perfection, it was only to hone a necessary skill. He had always assumed the shadowsinger just hid it better, that the cold rage that lurked beneath the impassive surface was a result of the same emptiness he felt.

Perhaps it was instead a result of the fact that even those who loved him best didn’t really see him.

“Do not dare to condescend to me with your pity,” Azriel snapped, and Cassian bristled until he realized he was not the one being addressed. He looked to Rhys, to the muscle feathering in his clenched jaw. “I am not diminished because I am not bound to another.” Willow startled at the shift in mood, leaping down and skittering across to settle underneath the chaise. Rhys bowed his head under the fierce glare.

“No, you are not,” he said quietly, almost humbly. “You most certainly are not. I just…I can’t believe I was wrong all this time. And the way you look at Mor, the sadness…I still don’t understand it.”

His voice softer, warmer, Az responded, “I am sad for Mor because I pity anyone who cannot acknowledge even to themselves who they truly are. Not because of any unfulfilled wishes of my own.” Cassian could have laughed at Rhys’s expression of utter bafflement, and even Azriel smiled a little. “Did you think I haven’t noticed Mor bedding females all these years?”

Now it was true shock on Rhys’s elegant face, and Cassian did laugh out loud at his dropped jaw. “What?”

“You may have noticed,” Cassian said wryly to Az, “but clearly our brother here has been out of the loop.” He turned to Rhys. “Did you never wonder why Mor is always hanging out at Rita’s?”

“What about Rita’s?”

The two Illyrians exchanged very amused looks before Cassian decided to take mercy on Rhys. “Rita’s is basically a hot spot for those who are looking for same-sex options. Did you not ever wonder why you constantly had males inviting you to bed there?”

Rhys shook his head, a trace of his usual arrogance reappearing as he replied, “No, I get invitations from everyone no matter where I am. I never really thought about it. Though considering you also did whenever we were there, I suppose I should have.”

Cassian winked at him. “I too get invitations from everyone everywhere, brother.”

Az snorted. “You accept them though, Cass. Rhys doesn’t.” Rhys turned to him, looking startled again. Cassian just shrugged. 

“You better get over yourself,” he said to Rhys, “because Mor is bringing Ahna tomorrow.”

“Ahna? As in, Vivianne’s sister?” He nodded, and Rhys turned speculative. “I wonder what Feyre is going to say to that.”

Clearing his throat, Cassian said, “Um, as far as I know, it was Feyre’s idea. And Nesta had Cerridwen write the invitation to her directly.” Laughing again at Rhys’s dismay at learning he really was the last to know, he rose and poured them all another knuckle’s length. He stood behind Az’s chair, dropping a broad hand on his shoulder, and looked at these males that he had loved almost all his life. They had fought for each other and pushed each other and each had become a better version of themselves thanks to the other two. He knew that without Rhys and Az, and Rhys’s mother, he would never have amounted to someone worthy of the female he was to marry tomorrow. No matter how big the void Nesta filled in his soul, it would never diminish what he felt for his brothers.

Clearing his throat, he raised his glass. “I know we haven’t done this much since the war, or really for a lot longer than that, but I want you to know that I love you both, no matter what. To truth among brothers,” he said. The others raised their glasses, murmuring, “To truth,” in reply. As Cassian tilted his head back to drain his glass, a shooting star passed overhead, echoing the fiery trail of the liquor down his throat. All three of them froze, staring at the sky, as awed by the flash of beauty above them as they had been centuries ago when they first stood together beneath the stars.


	19. Official

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding

Nesta woke early, body accustomed by now to Cassian’s crack-of-dawn risings, and briefly was startled by the unfamiliar surroundings. Rather than her mate’s discreet rustlings as he dressed, she could hear two sets of deep breathing. Her sisters. After a few seconds she got her bearings and realized she was in the townhouse, on the day of her wedding, having spent one last night as she’d spent most of her life, sharing a bed with Elain and Feyre. They were both still asleep, and she watched them for a moment. Elain still slept with her hand tucked under her cheek and her mouth slightly open, looking as if she was smiling at her dreams. Feyre had rested her hand on Nesta’s side some time during the night, the position protective despite the peace in her flushed face. She had always been the guardian of them all, even though she was youngest. A small twinge of guilt hit her as it always did when she thought of those times, of the agony Feyre had gone through when she first learned to kill so they could all survive. Of her own passivity that could have doomed them all if her sister hadn’t risen to the task. 

She brushed a gentle hand through Feyre’s hair, the color and texture twin to her own. Even now, though they loved each other fiercely, they could not be totally comfortable together except when sleeping. Words had never come easy to her. Loving had never been easy for her either, always seeming fraught with expectations and pressure. Her sisters both had been blessed with those gifts and not for the first time, she wondered at what quirk of fate or inheritance had made it all so hard for her to express what she felt so deeply. 

Her thoughts drifted to Cassian. Who from the very first moment they met had seen right through her ice fortress and had called her for what she was. He was the first person who had ever dared to speak openly about her failings in the family. She had hated him for it at first, that what she had tried so hard to obscure behind a haughty exterior he had seen in an instant. Thankfully he had not run from her as he should have if he’d had any sense. No, he had led the dance well, pulling away when she needed time to accept his effect on her, then welcoming her in when she reached out to him. She couldn’t wait to see him today. For him to see her in that dress, either. She just hoped the dress would survive once he finally got her alone.

Elain stirred then, not really waking but shifting so she was pressed into Feyre’s back. The movement woke their sister, who sucked in a breath and sat up abruptly. Nesta missed the small warmth of her hand on her ribcage. Feyre blinked a few times as awareness flooded in, then looked down with a smile at Nesta. “Are you ready?” she asked, voice still rough. Nesta nodded in response with a glance to the still-sleeping Elain. Feyre followed the look and hunched in on herself a little, a wordless apology. With the hand signals they had developed as children, she suggested that they both get up and leave Elain sleeping, and Nesta slipped out of the bed and tiptoed to the door, Feyre behind her. Together they made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Nuala and Cerridwen were already there, breakfast on the stove. The sisters thanked the wraiths as they took portions of the eggs, fruit, and bread. All such simple food but no less appealing for that. It had been a long time since Feyre had first been taken to the Spring Court, but none of them had forgotten the constant ache of hunger that had been the main driver in their lives for years before that. 

While they ate, Lucien appeared, then a sleep- tousled Elain. The smiles the two gave each other were blinding, and Nesta couldn’t keep her own lips from curving in response. Being mated to Cassian herself had perhpas made her too soft, but she couldn’t deny that the red-haired male caused her gentle sister to glow. Once she was fully awake, Feyre started in on what needed to happen before the ceremony late that afternoon, but really Mor and Elain had done their jobs so well there was little beyond dressing. Satisfied, Nesta picked up a book and settled into the drawing room to read, soon joined by Elain with some of the needlework she enjoyed. But despite the fact that she picked a favorite book, she couldn’t settle. She was restless in a way she rarely was, and she missed Cassian. On their rare quiet days together, she would lean on his warm bulk while they both read, Willow usually draped over her shins, making her feet fall asleep. Gritting her teeth, she tried to return to her book. Surely she could manage one day without him, and by sunset they would be officially married. Mated. Both. Looking up yet again, she saw Elain’s serene brown eyes on her, a tinge of understanding and something else Nesta didn’t quite recognize in them.

“It will always be like this for you,” Elain said in that odd tone her voice sometimes got. “Always you will feel feverish when you are apart. Even when…” She trailed off and returned to her work, seeming to have little idea that she’d even spoken. Suddenly an image of a tiny, perfect baby girl, with her golden-brown hair and his hazel eyes, cradled in his huge hands, popped into Nesta’s head. Her hand flew to her chest and she felt as if she had been punched. She wondered if Elain had sent her the image, or the Cauldron, or just her own heart. Nesta had a thousand questions, wondering what, exactly, Elain had seen…but before she could get her mouth open to ask, she realized that there were some journeys that needed to be lived, some questions that needed to stay unasked, to be answered only by time. 

She ached for Cassian more than ever.

*****

Cassian woke on time, rolling over automatically to watch Nesta emerge from sleep…only to find a muscular, tattooed back and wings. Right. Az and Rhys had stayed the night, and Rhys had claimed the couch, leaving the Illyrians to share. Well, it wasn’t the first time they had shared a bed, though it had probably been centuries. He chuckled a little internally at what Nesta would think when she knew, not that she had ever cared much about who had previously been in his bed. And after all, despite the rumors throughout the war camps, they had never shared each other like that. They were far too much like brothers for there to be any urge there.

He tossed the covers back and padded to the kitchen, not bothering to be quiet as he began prepping coffee. Willow joined him with a series of loud cries until he set down her bowls of meat and milk. Rhys groaned in the living room and he grinned. His High Lord had been getting lazy since the war; it would be good for him to get dragged out while the sky was still rosy. It might be his wedding day, but that was no reason not to get a good workout in this morning, especially since he really needed to work off some of this energy. Otherwise he might not make it through the ceremony without yanking Nesta behind some bushes…Ugh, he shouldn’t even consider that or he might just do it. As the pan for the eggs warmed, he found his leg jiggling. It had been an age since he had felt this jazzed; he eyed his untouched coffee, wondering if it would help or hurt his mood. 

Azriel approached silently and began slicing bread behind him. They moved easily through the kitchen together, the slight dance familiar to them both. By the time Rhys was vertical, everything was ready and Cassian handed his bleary-eyed brother a mug of ultra-strong coffee. He sipped it and made a face. “What the hell is this? An assassination attempt?”

Az laughed and handed Rhys cream and sugar, both of which he added liberally before risking another sip. This time it appeared to be acceptable, as he sat down and heaped his plate with eggs and toast and the sauteed mushrooms Cassian had made since he knew how much Rhys loved them. The three of them fell on the food like they hadn’t eaten in days. When they were done, Az cleared, Cassian washed, and Rhys dried the dishes and they all headed to the roof to fly to the House of Wind to train. They took turns sparring. Rhys was finally starting to fight like he meant it, thank the Cauldron. Cassian grinned when Az’s sword suddenly dropped to the ground. He didn’t think Rhys had successfully disarmed either one of them since before Under the Mountain. And when Azriel picked up his sword and attacked for real, not holding back out of his innate politeness, Rhys parried and returned with true aggression, getting off his back foot almost immediately. It was about damn time. He had missed this brother.

Once they had all worked appropriately they flew back to the apartment to bathe and dress. The jitters returned while Az was getting ready. He wasn’t nervous, exactly; he had no doubts or fears; he just wanted to be there already, to see what she looked like as she bound herself to him. What she smelled like. He longed to know what she was going to say to him, and how she was going to take his own words. Rhys and Willow were both watching him as he paced, but neither of them said anything. Finally it was his turn, and he took his time soaking in the bath, allowing the warmth and the smell of lavender to soothe him. He scrubbed his wings as best he could - always a bit of a tricky business - and then dried himself and dressed. The deep charcoal shirt he and Rhys had picked out was of a fine material and cut perfectly to show off his breadth, the neck having a bit of a vee under his throat that revealed the swirls of his tattoos. Tying his hair back, he surveyed himself in the steamy mirror. He was ready.

*****

Nuala finished getting Nesta’s hair pinned in place and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. Though she mostly looked after Feyre, the wraith had always attended her when she needed her, and always seemed so understanding. “I’m glad you’re coming today,” Nesta said suddenly. Nuala looked shocked; they almost never spoke to each other; and smiled shyly in response. 

“It’s an honor,” she said, her voice a little husky. She paused, looking uncertain, as if she wanted to say more. Nesta wasn’t sure how to encourage her, and she thought for sure Nuala was about to leave. She searched for the right words, the ones that would let her know how much she appreciated all the care and kindness…

“You’re family,” she finally said, “and the honor of having you there is mine.”

The wraith’s eyes were tear-bright as she replied, “I am grateful to you, for bringing the Commander happiness. I am grateful to the High Lady as well.” Then she vanished, and Nesta was left to wonder. What had Nuala and Cerridwen been observing since Azriel had trained them and brought them into the household? That they cared deeply for Rhys was obvious, but she hadn’t really ever considered what they might feel towards the other members of the family. Herself included. 

She shook herself mentally and looked in the mirror. Her face was a little flushed, and her eyes…her usual barriers were gone. She didn’t know when that had happened, if it was a product of her hopes for today or if they had changed once she allowed her ice to fall. With her hair half up, half curling down to her shoulders, she seemed softer somehow. And found she didn’t mind.

Rising in a fluid motion, she walked out of her room and down the stairs. Feyre was waiting to winnow her to the garden; everyone else had already gone ahead. Her sister’s voice was thick with tears as she said, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Nesta replied, the words sounding foreign to her own ears.

“Are you ready?” She nodded wordlessly, and Feyre wrapped her arm around her, kissed her on the cheek, and then pressed them into the crushing black.

She blinked as they appeared in the walled garden, the peaceful spot still a riot of color despite the season. Elain was a genius. Waves of red, rich golden orange, warm yellow, and a deep purple ran together beautifully in a way she could never have predicted. There was an arch at the far end that was covered in white and soft yellow flowers and reddish foliage. White chairs, each separated from its neighbor with a small pot of flowers, were arranged on the paving stone floor, facing the arch. People were already gathered; her eyes skipped over Mor and the lovely white-haired Ahna, over Amren and Varian, over the librarians, Nuala, and Cerridwen, even over Elain and Lucien, looking for her mate. Suddenly he appeared, flanked by Rhys and the shadowsinger, who stood with Willow in his arms. Cassian was resplendent in black and dark gray that set off his Siphons. He had picked her out immediately and was staring at her with something like awe in his face. She felt a smile spread across her own lips, joy a poor word for what she was feeling in that moment. 

*****

The second they landed, Cassian saw her. She was standing with Feyre, scanning the small gathering for him, and his breath caught in his throat. Her dress was a soft dove gray, with some sort of creamy lace over the top of it. The deep square neck revealed just the tops of her full breasts, and then it nipped in to hug her narrow frame. The sleeves were fitted along her upper arms but widened below the elbow, so her slender wrists and hands were framed in fabric; the dress itself followed the same pattern, flowing out below her waist in a soft drape to pool at her feet. Her hair was half-up and half curling around her shoulders and it showed off those delicate ears, that refined jaw and throat. But it was her eyes that caught him, those beautiful blue-gray eyes that could be so sharp and yet in this moment were so soft, the look on her face almost…longing. He was pretty sure his expression mirrored hers, though he would never be so perfect.

“Rein it in, brother,” Rhys murmured, just as Nesta picked him out and her face transformed, suffused with joy. 

“What do you mean?” Cassian asked, not able to peel his eyes from his mate.

“Well, I think some of the guests may be a bit upset if you go bend her over a chair before they get a chance to eat. Just a few more hours and you can do whatever depraved things are running through that brain right now.”

“Right. Hours. Things.” He felt fingers on his chin, pushing his mouth closed, and jerked his head away in annoyance. Nesta was laughing now, still watching him, and he needed to go to her, had never needed anything so much. As he started to take a step, strong hands gripped both arms and his brothers steered him around some chairs and towards some sort of flower-covered arch. There was a priestess there in her flowing robes, her face not pretty but with a serene sort of beauty. Her eyes were wise and there was a spark of humor in them as she surveyed Cassian.

“So,” she said, her voice deep and rich, “it appears perhaps we should hurry along?” He blushed in response, absolutely blushed, and nodded. She looked to Mor and Feyre and lifted her chin, and in just a few moments everyone was seated and he and the priestess were alone beneath the white and yellow flowers, Nesta at the far end of the garden, a clutch of cream and red flowers in her hands. Mor snapped her fingers and suddenly the music of stringed instruments swelled from the far side of the wall, a beautiful traditional piece that he had heard at hundreds of ceremonies over the years. It began with a slow, steady, unchanging bass rhythm, almost a heartbeat, before being joined first by one, then another, then another of a higher lilting, deceptively simple melody. With the music being passed from one instrument to another, it was a song without a true beginning or ending, one that could go on forever. Nesta looked startled, and he remembered that they had never discussed music; this must have been a gift from Mor, then, who would have known how this particular piece had always both saddened and gladdened his heart. As the melody circled back, Nesta seemed to shake herself and began walking to him, her eyes fixed on his face, her steps nearly hurried, only the pace of the music restraining her. 

As she neared, the priestess reached out both her finely wrinkled hands and Cassian and Nesta each took one as they faced each other. The music swelled once more and then faded, and the sudden silence was so complete he heard Nesta swallow.

The priestess spoke then, her voice another melody. “Today, we come together in celebration. A celebration of love, of commitment, of friendship. This is not simply a mating, a submission to a bond. This is a joining of love. And while a mating bond is a gift from the Cauldron, love is a gift from each of you to the other, a gift you choose to give every day, every minute. In big moments or in small ones, in life and in death. I ask that you now speak of your commitment to each other, that we may declare the bond true.”

Nesta had asked to speak first, and she stood facing him, looking at a small piece of paper in her hand. There was a long pause, and then she spoke, and though her voice quiet it carried through the garden. “When I was human, I could never imagine binding myself to another. I believed that if I ever married, it would be for convention or survival. There was never a man who set me on fire, who made me want to be more than what I was. Then I met you, and you angered me, and challenged me, and both fought me and fought for me. I began to realize that maybe there really was something worth risking myself for.” She looked up from her paper then and paused, unable to take her eyes from his tear-bright ones as the world shrunk down to just the two of them. “You once told me that your only regret in dying would be that you didn’t have more time to spend with me. I knew, in that moment,” her voice quavered slightly, “I knew that I could never walk away from you. That if you were going to leave this world, then so would I. But the Cauldron saw fit to spare us, with a little help from Elain.” There were some quiet chuckles from the small audience. “And even though it has taken us some time, we have managed to find each other over and over. We have never stopped fighting for each other. And somewhere in all of that, I realized that I never want to do anything else. I am your mate, and you are mine. And I love you, Cassian, from the very bottom of my soul.” There were tears running down both of their faces now, and he gathered her in his arms and buried his face in her neck. Her scent filled his nose, and she smelled like home.

After a moment, he regained control and pulled away a little, reaching up to brush her cheeks with his thumbs before taking both her hands. “I’m not sure if I can follow that,” he said, voice thick with emotion. She smiled, a little watery smile, and waited. He took a few deep breaths, mastering himself, her steady gray-blue eyes fortifying him. “The first time I met you, you infuriated me. The second time, you intoxicated me, and then quite literally brought me to my knees. By the third time, I knew that I would consider my life well-spent if I gave it to defend you and yours. In all my years of existence, I never imagined I would find somebody I would want to share my life with. But when I’m with you, I can’t even remember how I lived before I met you. You are the piece of me I never knew was missing.” He paused, throat bobbing as he fought to control his voice. “I will never know what I did to deserve this blessing from the Cauldron, but I will be forever grateful for it. I love you more than I ever dreamed possible, and I cherish every moment we spend together. Thank you, Nesta, for being willing to share your life with me.”

He could feel his hands shaking, or maybe it was hers, and there was pressure in his chest as he kept himself from snatching her up and crushing her to him. The priestess looked between them radiating calm joy. “You have both chosen to wear rings as a reminder of your love for each other. Will you, Nesta, place this ring on Cassian’s finger as a symbol of your commitment to him?” She took the band, simple gold with tiny chips of red stone inset, and slipped it onto his fourth finger where it sat next to his Siphon gauntlet. “Will you, Cassian, place this ring on Nesta’s finger as a symbol of your commitment to her?” It was definitely his hands that were shaking as he plucked the delicate ring with its fine web of gold harnessing the red stones and slipped it onto her finger. “With this exchanging of rings and declaration of vows, I do pronounce Nesta and Cassian married and mated. May your union be strong.” 

With a glance to the priestess, he pulled Nesta to him and kissed her softly. There was salt on her lips as there was no doubt on his own. Sliding his arms around her just as she did the same, he pressed her to him. He knew now what Rhys had meant. There was nothing that could cleave them apart, not even death. Suddenly four tiny punches landed on his thigh, and he pulled away and looked down to see Willow clinging to his pants. There was a burst of laughter from the witnesses, all except Elain, who looked horrified at the cat’s escape from her care. Laughter bubbled through Nesta’s lips, then his own, and his wife reached down to lift the kitten to her shoulder. His wife. His mate. A wave of love and pride rolled down the bond, to be met by one just as strong. As the music began anew, their lips met again, and then there was the scraping of chairs and they were surrounded by their family. Hands were clapping backs, congratulations and hugs were being given, yet the only one he could really see was her.

*****

Nesta gripped Cassian’s hand like a lifeline as her family swarmed them. Her new ring dug into her fingers and she relished the pressure as it kept her from being swept away in the currents of energy around her. He brought her closer and wrapped one arm around her, pulling her back against his body, and she leaned into his solid bulk. 

Someone was calling for food to be served. Mor, of course. The chairs were rearranged to surround tables that appeared out of nowhere, and there was a tiny stampede as everyone rushed to sit. Cassian took her hand in his broad one and steered her towards their reserved seats more slowly. Nesta couldn’t help notice how Ahna marked every move Mor made as she caused steaming dishes to appear and began doling out wine, how her pale face lit up when Mor directed attention to her. Nor the glow in Mor’s golden-brown eyes every time they fell on Ahna’s refined lips. She was getting as bad as Feyre, trying to match everyone up. Glancing up at Cassian beside her, Nesta saw that his eyes also were tracking the two females, and a small smile played on his broad lips. He felt her gaze and returned it, breaking into a grin before he bent down to press a kiss to her neck. Pulling her chair out, he helped her arrange her long skirt before slipping into the chair next to her, knee brushing hers as he adjusted his wings. 

There was a brief pause in which everyone’s attention turned to them, and Nesta felt herself wishing for the ice wall to hide behind. Cassian raised his glass and dropped his chin, then said in his booming voice, “Thank you for joining us in this celebration. We are so fortunate to have you all as our friends and family. Now eat, before Mor murders me for letting the food get cold!” There was a smattering of laughter and applause and a clinking of glasses. The stringed instruments continued to play in the background, a new song of celebration, as the perfectly spiced food was passed around and conversation swelled. 

Nesta ate quietly, letting the noise wash over her, not really trying to follow. It was all a bit raucous and overwhelming, and part of her still wished they had pulled a Feyre and had it all done privately in the middle of the night. Elain met her eyes then, such happiness suffusing her beautiful face. She glanced at Feyre, who sat in a pose that mirrored the High Lord’s, no doubt unconsciously, both faces alight. Feyre, who regretted their secrecy, though she too hated spectacle. The guests were all laughing at something, even the silent librarians. It suddenly struck her that weddings were kind of like funerals - only the ceremony was for the subjects, the rest of it was for everybody else. Though Cassian seemed to be as into the party as everyone else, she thought as she studied his profile, his lips curved, eyes crinkled. Her mate. Her husband. A small part of her wished that he was as restless about being stuck here with everyone as she was, and she hated herself for wanting that. Cassian’s Siphons flared subtly, and with it she felt a rush of desire and longing and yes, frustration, down the bond. His expression didn’t change, but she pressed her leg against his and he dropped his hand to her knee. Only a little longer. Then she could take him home and that hand could be put to better use…

There was a flash of movement and a shout of laughter from the far table, and Nesta looked up to see Willow darting across the table with a piece of someone’s fish in her mouth, Elain in horrified pursuit. As the cat took a flying leap and landed among the plants, Ahna called after Elain, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it!” Everyone was collapsed in their chairs, helplessly laughing. Even Clotho the mute librarian had tears running down her face as she sagged back, face split in a broad grin, arm wrapped around her abdomen as if it hurt. Nesta glanced at Feyre, expecting to see censure in her face, but her sister was just as overcome as everyone else. Finally Elain re-appeared from behind a raised bed full of plants, face triumphant, arms full of squirming cat. Her brown eyes were sparkling as she marched up to Nesta and Cassian. 

“I think I should winnow her back to the townhouse. She can stay with us while you’re gone. I’ll be back in a moment.” And with that, they disappeared. Nesta wasn’t sure where this assertive version of her sister had come from but she loved her all the more.

Mor and, oddly, Azriel ushered everybody away from the now-empty plates and vanished the tables. The music shifted into something quick, merry, bright. With a mischievous glint in those hazel eyes, Cassian bowed to her, extending his hand like the courtly gentleman he would never be. Laughing despite herself, she took his hand and he spun her into a dance. They were quickly joined by everyone else, and the small space was full of movement, the energy sweeping her away. She passed from Cassian to Rhys for a couple of dances while Feyre claimed the commander. Her mate stole her back, pulling her against him, swaying gently back and forth as the tempo slowed, his lips finding hers as they moved. Heat bloomed in her core and she wanted nothing more than for him to spread those glorious wings and fly her home for them to continue their dance in private. But first, she ended up getting spun around the cobbled garden by Lucien, whose polite invitation to dance had earned only a moderate snarl from Cassian, and then Azriel, whose shadows were barely to be seen. Even Varian asked for her hand and they took a turn under Amren’s watchful silver eyes. Finally, she could take it no longer, and they said their good-byes and thank-yous to their well-wishers before Cassian swept her into his arms and launched them into the air.

As they flew home up over the Sidra, Nesta couldn’t keep her eyes off the broad planes of Cassian’s face. Those long lashes framing the hazel eyes, the straight nose, full lips, rich golden-brown skin…He was all hers. It was official now. His hair was coming down out of its tie, and the black strands curled down to brush his jawline. She stretched up in his arms to press a kiss where the hair touched, and his arms tightened around her. Her tongue traced where her lips had just been, and he closed his eyes for a second with a sharp intake of breath. The slight salt of his skin on her tongue triggered a bloom of heat in her core, and she didn’t know how she could wait even the few more minutes for them to reach the apartment. If there weren’t people all through the streets below them she would have been hiking up her dress as they flew. She settled for tugging his shirt free from his pants and running her cool fingers over the muscles of his abdomen. He groaned low in her ear and she bit her lip. Just another minute and they would be home. Just another minute…

They landed on the roof and she expected him to lay her down on the chaise but he carried her down the stairs and through the door, all the way into the bedroom. His tongue had been in her mouth from the moment his feet touched down, and as he let go of her feet and she slid down his body her fingers went right to undoing the wing panels on his tunic. After tugging his shirt over his head, she went to free him from his restricting pants but he put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around. Gently, he began taking the pins out of her hair, one by one, and the tickling of the hair coming down on her neck and shoulders made her shudder. Those broad fingers brushed her hair away from the nape of her neck before flicking open the top button on her dress. “If you harm one thread of this dress,” she threatened, her voice too hoarse to carry any weight. 

His lips brushed against the back of her neck, and he whispered against her skin, “I wouldn’t dare. This dress is a work of art.” Slowly, so slowly, he undid each of the tiny buttons down the back, lips and tongue tracing each inch of freed skin, the touch so light she shivered. Twice she tried to turn to him, but his hands tightened on her to hold her in place. As he neared her waist, she heard his knees hit the floor, then he reached up and gently eased the fabric off her shoulders, hands following it down her arms as the dress slipped off her body and pooled around her feet. There was a low chuckle behind her and she felt his fingers slip below the band of the very skimpy lacy underwear that rested on her hips. His mouth moved along her back, then her buttocks, and the graze of his teeth on her skin was driving her nearly wild but his hands on her ribs held her immobile. Finally, when she was trembling with need he turned her but remained kneeling, shifting his lips to her thighs, kissing his way up to the apex. Only the thin lace was between his mouth and her flesh as he slipped one hand behind her back and up between her shoulders while the other steadied her at her hip. His tongue began playing with the edges of the scrap of fabric, flicking beneath it, teasing at her until she thought she’d go mad. Her fingers found his hair and wound themselves into it, undecided whether to pull him to his feet so they could go to the bed or press him harder against her core.

Cassian hooked his thumbs through the lace separating his mouth and her body and carefully eased it over her hips and down her legs. She shivered again. He tilted his head back so he could meet her eyes from where he knelt before her, and held her gaze as he ran a finger over her core. Her hips bucked of their own volition and that was an unleashing. Suddenly her knee was hooked over his shoulder, foot nearly brushing his wing, and his hands were steadying her as he dragged his tongue where his finger had just been. He grunted in approval at her taste and she could only gasp as he worked her with his mouth, probing and sucking lightly until she was lost completely in the feel of him. She would have collapsed on the floor were he not holding her up, the press of his shoulder and arms and hands just more areas of stimulation for her overheated body. There was nothing to help her stifle her moans as she went over the edge but for once she didn’t care. And though her body was still contracting as he pulled away and rose to his feet, kissing his way up her, she wanted him buried in her.

Nesta grabbed his face and pulled his mouth to hers, nothing gentle in her touch. He obliged, crushing his mouth to hers and then lifting her off her feet to carry her to the bed. The feel of his thick length pressed against her abdomen was nearly enough to make her lose control completely. As he laid her down gently on the bed and stretched over her, she ran her nails down his back from his shoulder blades to his waist, barely missing his wings, and he arched into the touch. When her fingers reached his waistband, she cursed to herself at the obstruction as she fumbled with the buttons. He didn’t help her, seeming to enjoy her difficulties as he sucked her earlobe into his mouth and gently bit down. She froze for a second, savoring the feel of his teeth in her flesh, before finally freeing him from his accursed pants. There was no gentle easing of fabric over his hips; no, she shoved first with her hands, then with her feet until she heard them hit the floor. His mouth was still teasing her, nibbling gently down her neck, over her collarbone, and she didn’t know how he was holding back the need that they had both been pouring down the bond since the priestess’ pronouncement. 

Pressing the heel of her hand against his shoulder, she convinced him to roll first to his side, then all the way onto his back. Finally his face was showing the strain as she straddled him, her wet warmth pressed against his cock. He grabbed her hips and she lifted her body, reaching between them to grasp his root before easing herself down onto it. His sharp intake of breath was music to her as she felt her core stretching around him. As soon as he was seated as deep as her body would allow she began moving, finding her rhythm, the rolling of his hips helping. Leaning forward, she sucked his nipple into her mouth, and he bucked into her in response. She began tracing the swirls of his tattoos first with her finger, then with her tongue, and a moan escaped his lips, heightening her own arousal. Abruptly she decided not to quiet her own sounds. At each push of him deeper into her, she allowed out the exhales and small groans she had always suppressed. This seemed to drive him nearly wild, and as the pace quickened and the contact deepened, soon both their noises were echoing through the apartment. She could feel him building, and she was so close to climax herself…

Closing her eyes, she straightened up above him, running her fingers over his powerful muscles and the broad bones of his hips. He gasped at the shift in position, and then she felt his thumb connect with that little bundle of nerves that sat right at their junction, and they both cried out as they found their release, her body contracting around him as he pumped into her. Her vision was blurry as she opened her eyes and looked down at her flushed mate, and his hand was trembling as it stroked her side. She folded down to lay against his chest, and his arms came around her, strong bands of muscle holding her to him. He was still inside her, and she decided they were never going to move, that she wanted to stay joined like that for the rest of time. As his broad hands rubbed gentle circles over her back, sleep claimed her swiftly, giving her just enough time to whisper, “I love you, you Illyrian bastard.” 

And to hear his rumbled, “I love you too, my little hellcat,” in reply.

*****  
The gravel was digging into Cassian’s knees as he knelt on the roof, looking into the starscape above him. He savored the pressure from the dozens of little sharp edges. It grounded him, made him feel that maybe today had been real. Despite the lights of the city, the skies never failed to show their beauty, the variegation of deep blues, purples, and blacks interrupted by a million points of light. He thought of the shooting stars that he and his brothers had seen - was that only last night? - and gratitude filled his heart.

His own shooting star was asleep in the apartment below him. Oh, hell, he hoped that wasn’t what she was; it just seemed that something of her fire and brilliance could only be but a flash in his vast night. Five hundred and eighty years he had walked this earth without her and thought his life complete. What a fool he had been. How much of his own heart the darkness had hidden from him. 

He closed his eyes and the memory of her standing before him in that gown appeared behind his lids. Then the feel of her skin beneath his fingers and lips. Rhys had been right after all. No matter that they had been living together for months, that she had acknowledged the bond for weeks, it was different knowing they were joined permanently. That she had been willing to declare to all that he was hers. That despite his bastard origins she would lay claim to him. Tears began to accumulate beneath his eyelids, then spilled out down his cheeks and he wept without shame, washing away the stain of his birth.

Quiet footsteps sounded on the stairs and he knew she had felt him through the bond. When he opened his eyes, the sky was blurry and he blinked to clear his vision but did not attempt to wipe his face, nor did he turn around. Nesta came and stood behind him, so close he could feel the heat of her through his wings. A tentative hand touched his shoulder, and he reached up with his own to trap it against the bare skin. He didn’t want her to think he wished her elsewhere when nothing could be further from the truth. She stepped in next to him so her thigh brushed his arm, and he leaned his head against her side. Freeing her hand from his, she used it to stroke his hair back off his forehead, the gesture so tender it seemed to belong to another world. His whole life had been violence and pain and brutality, even the love he felt for his brothers was riddled with it. But that touch…if his mother had loved him, it was how she would have touched him. 

The tears began anew, and Nesta dropped to her own knees in front of him and pulled him into her arms. He could feel dampness on her cheek as she pressed it into his neck, and for a moment they just held onto each other, rocking on the rough gravel. When they pulled apart, he took her perfect face in his hands and kissed her, tasting first the salt on her lips, then her cheeks. Slowly, she rose to her feet. She was wearing nothing but an old shirt of his, and he kept his hands on her hips as she stood before him. Still on his knees, he looked up at her, and he knew that the awe he saw in her face as she stared at him was a reflection of his own.

Nesta took his hand and pulled him to his feet, then led him over to the chaise, her need as burning as his own. She lay down on it, and as he covered her with his body he thought of how appropriate it was to be sharing themselves under the sky. They moved together in unison, fully entwined, their love as vast and beautiful and enduring as the stars above.


End file.
